Sam Vs The Californian Summer
by The Solar Surfer
Summary: An Alex Rider/Chuck crossover. Sam's new to California and she's not liking it. She's liking it a lot less with the hot weather, Buy More employees, and sword-wielding ninjas. The Bartowski team's hot on a infamous drug dealer while Miss Bartowski is crushing hard on a new boy she's just met. Of course, what are the chances of them all being connected? Rewriting elsewhere.
1. AUTHOR ALERT

**This is mostly just an alert - I'm considering doing another edit of this story. The plot, at least most of it, will remain mostly the same. Several basic ideas will remain the same, but there are some big changes I want to make:**

**1. More Chuck and canon characters - I wanted to do POV chapters, from the respective characters, and as Chuck goes from one mission to the other. It'll probably center around third season, episode 9 (Chuck Vs. The Beard), as I feel that's a big milestone episode and it feels appropriate.**

**2. Third Person: Everything will be written from third person - I realized I wanted to change Sam's personality, and that it flowed better writing in third person. This would apply throughout the story, in all POVS. **

**3. If I'm really committed to this (I haven't decided yet - its going to be a lot of editing and re-writing), part of the timeline will be changed. It'll occur after Scorpia Rising, so Alex will be in San Francisco with Sabina, who will show up in this third attempt at a re-edit as well. I feel as though his cyncism at this stage and Sam's idealism would make for good foils. **

**So, yeah, those are the basic ideas that I want to go with. I'd like to know what you, the readers thinks. I don't want to do this if there's no audience for it, because my time is somewhat cramped this past couple months and I don't want to feel like I'm wasting my time with a vain effort. **

**Any and all feedback is appreciated :) Feel free to either use reviews or private messages, I'll read and respond to both. **


	2. Chapter One

**Okay, I've had to think how to make this worth, and this is what I've come up with. Since there are still some people in the middle of reading the older version, I'm going to repost it here and continue the next one on a different story on my fanfiction. I'll change the name, but this will stay here. If you have any ideas for either new title or new story, please feel free to write it in a review or a private message :)**

* * *

**Chapter One**

**Sam vs. **_**The Hot Chocolate**_

It's never good to have someone knock on your door in the middle of the night.

On the off chance it was a burglar, one could easily handle the situation. Call 9-1-1, get out the fire extinguisher and hit him in the groin, take out the frying pan and use it to bash his head in. Burglars are stupid and easy solve.

Handling the death of your father, not so much.

I was lying in bed when I heard the quiet engine of a car pass by. Only it didn't go away. It stayed outside, near my house, and for a while I listened to it. I realized I was irritated, because the car was distracting me from my sleep.

And then I got worried. Why was it here? _Was_ it a burglar? If it was, they were sure taking their time. What was going on?

Then came the three knocks. Not two, not four, but three. Then two more. In a sort of pattern.

There was the sound of feet pounding rapidly down the stairs. I was surprised; I was thoroughly convinced my mother was sleeping only two minutes before. Had she heard the car engine, too?

It didn't matter. I heard the door open and muffled voices through my pillow. In that moment, I was terrified. My life was hanging in the moment – I didn't know what was going to happen, or what was going on right now. It could've been a serial killer, like Rebecca Oswald was talking about in school the other day. Rebecca was so stupid – what does she know?

I froze in my musings, not daring to breathe, not to make a sound. I wanted to know what was going on. I just didn't want Mom to know.

There came the sound of Mom weeping and then I couldn't take it anymore. Something was going on, and I _had_ to see it.

I jumped from my bed, oddly awake, and burst from my room, almost tripping head-over-heels on my way down the stairs.

The door was still open, letting in cold night air. A man in a dark suit stood there, looking somber and grim, watched me with a hint of surprise as I graced the landing of the stairs with my butt.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, perhaps a word of interest to Mom, but she got to it before he did. "Go back to bed, Sammy."

Sammy. Ugh. Stupid baby names. Why did she have to treat me like I was still a five-year-old? I was in the sixth grade, for Pete's sake!

"Why?" I demanded, not caring how rude I sounded. "What's going on?"

The light from the street shone on my mom, and I saw she had dark circles under her eyes. That's weird. I didn't think she'd have trouble sleeping. _Why_ would she have trouble sleeping?

Mom seemed too tired to tell me to go away. The man in the doorway still looked a little bewildered, but she said to him, "Are you sure? Is that was the report said?"

"Sorry, Clarry." The man sighed. I was a little confused, because I didn't know a lot of people besides Dad who called my mom by her first name. Did she know this man? Who was he? "Regan was the only one who made it out. She did her best, but it was too late."

"What was too late?" I blurted, my heart skipping a beat. The look on my mother's face – horror, grief, love, and a little bit of something else – made me feel queasy inside. Something wasn't right. Not right at all.

"Thank you, Jim," Mom brushed her face with her hands, and I saw on her face tears. "I'll handle it from here."

"Whatever you say, Clarry," he smiled sympathetically and started to back away from the door. "Just doing my duty."

The door closed.

The room suddenly got dark. I stood there stiffly, cold, looking at Mom, waiting for her to start talking.

"Come on, sweetie. Let's go into the kitchen and sit down. I'll make you some hot chocolate."

I was stunned. Mom never made me hot chocolate. She said I was just too lazy to do it myself. This was how I knew things had gotten from bad to worse. Mom only made me hot chocolate when something horrible had happened.

But I would be at that same table when the cold, pink light of morning rose, the hot chocolate untouched, in a different home, in a different state, almost four years later. Instead of street lights outside, there were white-capped mountains.

It was on that night that had changed my entire life. My dad, off on a trip to Russia, was sent for medical work. He went with a team of co-workers, which was probably why I didn't go with him. He had gone to Africa before that with them, and he was only meant to be in Moscow for six weeks.

He never came back.

Even now, it was still a hard thing to wrap my mind around. Dad and I – we had been tight. He had taught me everything I knew, and even said that out loud. Dad told me that whatever they taught me in school could never prepare me for what was really out there. School softened the truth, made it nice and G-rated. The world was tough, and it didn't give Get-Out-of-Jail-Free cards to just anyone.

You had to work, he'd tell me often. You had to earn what you get.

It was a moral I lived by, really. I wanted to excel at everything, be the best I could be. I wanted to make him proud.

But I guess it was all for nothing.

Montana was beautiful, though. Despite my lack of paternal guidance, I learned a lot of things. Snowboarding, for instance, which I can proudly say I managed to learn on my own. Dad – ahem – taught me how to ski, so it took me almost a winter and a half to get good on a board.

And I still had Mom, which was saying a lot. She was there for me, although I can't say she was like Dad. She was distant, and wasn't very good at moral support. Then again, neither was I.

I guess you could say I took after my mom. She was a Bartowski, through and through. Dark hair, shining eyes, tall (for a woman). I had her nose, her mouth, her jawline. Even her hips, if that doesn't sound weird. But that's where the resemblance stopped. I had dark hair, too, but it was much more curlier and unruly. I was short.

And I had my dad's blue eyes.

I looked at the cup of hot chocolate, gone cold. I should really drink this, I said to myself. Mom doesn't like it when I waste food.

I got up and stuck the mug into the microwave. As the mug rotated and the machine hummed, I crossed my arms and tried to think. What to do, what to do…

I picked up the remote and turned on the TV. It was too early for anything good to come one – half of the channels were still playing infomercials for insomniacs. I chose the news channel, figuring this week's weather was more important than how efficient my toaster was.

Dad had always been there for me. We did almost everything together. He took me wherever he went, and taught me things that schools could only dream of. Dad went with me to the movies, held my hand as I got shots, made sure I was always on time for school or dinner or bedtime. Although I wasn't the greatest fan of sports, he taught me how to throw a baseball, how to swing a back, how to kick a soccer ball. It was almost unreal that he was no longer sleeping in our home, eating our food, driving the car. I'd never hear his laughter again, or tie his shoes together, or guilt him into helping me with my math homework.

The microwave dinged and I retrieved my drink, now piping hot again.

The anchorman was giving reports on clear skies and warm days.

Mom came down the stairs.

"Good morning," I said between sips as she yawned. Her hair was a mess, but it was nothing I wasn't already used to.

Mom squinted at me, as if I was an illusion, something that wasn't quite there. "What're you doing up so early?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"We _do_ have NyQuil."

"Then I'll oversleep."

Mom sighed in exasperation. "How your father dealed with you, I will never know."

For one, he had a sense of humor, I thought to myself sourly.

Mom shuffled over to a cabinet and took out her favorite coffee mix and turned herself on autopilot. This is something I liked to witness every morning – I could talk about anything I wanted, but Mom would be so out of it, she wouldn't even realize I had been talking until she finished her coffee.

I decided not to talk this time – instead, I turned the TV on louder. It had changed from the weather to national news. Something about an old kidnapping in Los Angeles. Something about a trail gone sour. Something that had nothing to do with me.

Mom sighed and sat at the table, blinking blearily at the TV screen. Contrary to her sleepy composure, Mom drank her coffee in giant gulps. It wouldn't be long until she could understand the words the anchorman was spewing.

"…abducted on the waterfront in California only a year ago today…"

Mom blinked once, twice, three times in quick succession. "California?"

Why she picked up that word in particular, I didn't know. What was so important about California?

I said that question out loud, and it took Mom a little while longer to collect her thoughts. I waited for her patiently. Mom always took a while to think before she said anything. It was just something she did. I guess I could see why – Mom was always a careful person. She didn't like taking risks, and was a bit of a loner. She hung around in the garage a lot, building stuff.

That's the thing about my mom. She didn't exactly do what normal women did. My grade school friends had moms who baked pies and decided whether or not plaid curtains were in or out this year. Mine wondered if the engine of our could take 75 miles to the gallon instead of just 29, and then worked all night just so it could.

Mom, also, knew how to fix just about anything that revolved around tools, electricity, and dirt. Once, my bike got ran over, but she fixed it to such a new state that for the first couple weeks I thought she had bought an entirely new one. Another time, my laptop went kaput and she managed to get it up and going again with a state-of-the-art technology that I was pretty sure wasn't even out yet. And when I was struggling to come up with a project for the school Science Fair, she didn't help me build a volcano - no, she helped me build a scaled map of the world set up on a table the size of a my bed, with a real pump system that led to every volcano on Earth, that magically created glowing red liquid that melted the plastic trees I glues to the wood.

But my mom's gift at technology and science was not on my mind just then, because the look emerging on her face was concerning me: what was on her mind?

"Sam," she turned to me, a curious look on her face. "Do you remember your cousins?"

OoOoO

Several states away, a woman in a general's uniform was sitting at her desk, going through a particularly heavy load of paperwork.

The woman was small and short. Her brown hair was pulled back in a smooth and shiny bun at the base of her neck. This was the style she had lived with for many, many years, and she had no intention of changing it any time soon.

But despite her small stature, the woman was a fierce soldier and an expert strategist. She knew every code, maneuver, and trick in the rulebook, and it was those very things that got her where she was now.

Signing paperwork.

She had to admit, this wasn't what she had been expecting she'd do in the later years of her life. The paperwork in her career was horrifyingly tedious, and at times she wished she had chosen an occupation a little less complicated. Then again, her retirement plan was definitely something she was looking forward to.

But no thoughts of retirement were on her mind just then. She was too busy concentrating on the list in front of her. It was an old list, written and typed up a long time ago – so long that the paper had turn yellow with age, and the font was stubbornly wide-spaced.

The list was a collection of all possible candidates for the Operation Gemini. They were pairings of different spies, set on making on goal come true. After all, that was what Operation Gemini was all about. Four names were high-lighted. Things were in motion already. These people had one goal, and one goal only.

Create the perfect spy duo.

The woman picked up another stack of piles, this one a little fresher than the rest. It had been updated recently with the photo of a girl with dark curly hair and blue eyes. There was a big, silly grin on the girl's face. The woman was vaguely startled – the girl resembled one of the woman's own operatives. It was no question they were related.

The girl was fifteen years old. She was small for her age, especially for her family genetics, but was otherwise physically tip-top shape. Expert in Karate. Didn't know how to drive yet, but that could be taken care of soon enough.

The next stack was centered on the other half of Operation Gemini. The woman frowned at the stack, unhappy. It was a boy this time – of the same age, not unattractive, with blond hair and brown eyes that were too serious for a boy his age.

This wasn't good, but there was nothing she could do about it.

He, too, was physically fit . Knew karate. Also knew how to drive. A little young, but a good skill nonetheless.

They were ready, the woman thought to herself. They just needed to prove it. But how?

Her mind trailed back to recent news. A kidnapping of a photographer, only a year ago. Local policemen had picked up the trail again, albeit it was rather weak. It wasn't a high-class mission, or a very important one for that matter, since it revolved around the murder of a celebrity.

The woman scowled. She had no love for celebrities, but this would have to do.

She reached for the phone on her desk. She pressed a button.

"Begin the integration." was all she said.

General Beckman sat back in her seat. She smiled to herself.

Finally.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

**Sam vs. **_**California**_

I looked out the plane window. The land below me was a multitude of greens, oranges, and browns, divided into sections, separated by roads.

I sighed, slumping back into my seat. This was _so_ not cool.

I, Samantha Bartowski, was moving from beautiful blue-sky Montana to hot, stinky California to visit my stupid cousin for three months. Alone.

I have no idea what had gotten into Mom's head when she suddenly decided I needed a break from the cold mountains and go live somewhere sunny and bright and warm. I wish I told her that I hadn't had a good relationship with California ever since I got the most horrible sunburn (which I was sure was going to develop cancer later on in life).

"Is there anything I can help you with, Miss Bartowski?"

The voice caught me by surprise. Looking around, a very pretty flight attendant was stationed beside my row. Her perfect eyebrows were raised expectantly.

"Oh, uh, no," I said, stuttering. "But – thank you."

Sometimes I tried too hard to be polite.

At least my mom had the decency not to let me go by myself in plane without giving me a first class ticket. I had to say, I was major surprised when she handed me the piece of paper (she brought me to the airport to see me off and make sure I didn't forget everything. Classic mom.), and that seriously made the deal much more bearable. Now I didn't have to worry about poor leg area in between rows of seats.

Once, some years ago, we went on a trip to Kentucky, but chose business class instead. A fat cowboy in front of my seat just _had_ to lean his seat so far back that I couldn't even cross my legs (I swear, it's like they have buttons for this: Press _Green_ for Upright – Press _Yellow_ for Lounge – Press _Red_ for Crush the Knees of the Person Behind You.)

But, I digress.

The flight attendant nodded and walked off to another passenger. I glanced around, wondering what kind of company I had.

Most of them were important looking businessmen with high-tech laptops and leather briefcases. Possibly CEO's of some high-end companies. There were foreigners as well. Two olive-skinned men were speaking quickly in a language that most certainly wasn't English, one of them wearing a lime green turban on his head. You'd think turban would equal to terrorist, and to be honest it _did_ cross my mind, but it looked far too ridiculous to belong to any covert Al Qaeda follower. Besides, he had three chins and a very prosperous waistline. If he'd been carrying a bomb in, say, his shoe – it would have totally gone off by now.

My phone vibrated in my pocket for the billionth time. Oh, wonderful. Mother.

_Are you there yet?_

_No. Touchdown in an hour. Stop asking._

My mother acts like I can't take care of myself in California, but she still sends me willingly over there anyways. I think she knew I could handle myself, but a mother's instinct always had to get in the way somehow.

I did ask how an Stanford graduate of two years could handle a younger cousin, who already has a roommate in his flat, but she explained that my other cousin, Eleanor, will be right across the courtyard (I didn't understand what she meant by "courtyard," but she didn't know how to explain it), who was an excellent doctor in case I suddenly happened to have a heart attack or a brain tumor or something. She also explained that Eleanor was married, but I didn't equate that to good motherly skills.

She also mentioned a Captain Awesome, but when I gave her a weird look, she said it was Eleanor's husband. Then I asked why any mother would name her child Captain and marry a guy with the last name of Awesome. She then explained (with strained patience) that it was merely a nickname. His real name was Devon Woodcomb.

As I was muddling in my thoughts, a ding resounded in my head. At first, I thought it was the proverbial light-bulb-going-on-simultaneously-with-the-idea thing, but then my eyes looked up, and I noted that the seatbelt light had turned on.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, please return to your seats and buckle up, we are about to go into descent._" a pleasant voice said over the PA system.

People shuffled back into their chairs and a chorus of clicking filled the room. A sensation of vertigo went up and down my spine as the jet slowly started to descend.

Roughly, thirty minutes later, I was in LAX, looking around uncertainly for any gawky nerdy guys with glasses and a bad case of acne.

However, someone who totally didn't fit the description (except for the nerdy part) waved at me. I had to be honest – I totally didn't recognize him. But I guess that was understandable since the last time I saw him I was only two years old.

He was tall, for one thing. And good-looking, in a casual sort of way. He had dark, messy-ish, wavy hair and was cleanly shaven. His eyes were dark, but not in a mysterious, intriguing sort of way. More like one look at him and you _know_ he's you're best friend or something.

"Hey," he walked up to be, and I had to say, I was intimidated by his height. "You're Samantha?"

"Yes, _Charles_," I said, emphasizing his real name. "But just Sam works, too."

"And Chuck would be nice, too," he said shortly, sounding unrealistically chipper in tone, which was probably to hide his annoyance. "C'mon. Ellie's dying to meet you."

It took me a moment to wonder who Ellie was. Then I thought, _ooooh!_ Ellie is short for Eleanor!

"Cool."

It took several hours to get from LAX to Burbank, California. When we arrived to his home, I realized it wasn't as much as a house than an apartment complex based around a circular courtyard with a posh fountain in the middle. There were already several other cars stationed outside the apartments. Apparently, all of them were taken.

The first people I saw was a slim, pretty woman with dark hair like Chuck, and a tall, rather buff, blond guy beside her.

When I got out of the car, the woman hugged me. "I'm so glad to meet you, Samantha! I remember the last time I saw you, you were just a little toddler."

Lovely. "How long has it been?" I joked, trying to edge my tone away from sour. "Thirteen years?"

The blond guy snorted.

We looked at him.

"Oh!" he started, then held out his hand, which was kind of big. "I'm Devon. But most people call me Captain Awesome."

"Oh, right. Mom told me about you."

"Did she happen to mention my awesome looks?" he grinned widely.

"_Um, _no, I don't think so. She told me how you once almost had a breakdown during your first dissection of a frog and had to be sent to the nurse's office because you passed out." I replied.

I don't know how Mom knew that story (and I guess Captain "Awesome" didn't know either), but it made me laugh and Devon go very pale – then beet red.

"Oh," he chuckled in embarrassment. "I, uh, don't remember that, um, very well – err – at all, actually."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chuck roll his eyes. But Ellie only patted his broad chest and said, "It's all right. I had to tell Aunt Clary everything or she threatened she'd never come to the wedding and give us her blessings."

"Well!" Chuck said loudly, interrupting the pleasant conversation. "This is getting awkward. I'll just show Sam to her room and we'll be done with this whole thing."

Before we entered the house, Ellie called, "Hey, how about we have dinner together tonight?"

Chuck looked reluctant, and just to tease him, I called out, "Sure! That'd be great!"

That brought a brilliant smile to her face and a frown to Chuck's.

I followed him into one of the complexes. Inside, we entered a nice living room. I saw a flat screen TV displaying what appeared to be _Mario Kart_ and a spiky tuft of brown hair over the edge of the couch.

That tuft of hair jumped straight up at the sounded of the door opening, connected to a head and the rest of the body. It was another dude, certainly not related to me, and almost as short.

"Chuck, you're back! And you brought…" the guy's eyes fell on me, "A _kid_?"

I scowled. But Chuck got to it before I did.

"Morgan, this is Sam. Sam, this is…Morgan. My room-m-m-mate…" He stuttered as more men stood up, most of them in their mid-twenties, one in his forties and looked slightly wasted. They all basically looked like nerds. I mean, _real_ nerds – not Chuck-the-nerdy-cousin-who-could-easily-qualify-in -the-cute-contest (just saying) kind of nerdy. I was surprised I hadn't noticed them earlier; it was hard to miss half a dozen people in the same room.

But Morgan looked confused. "Uh, Chuck…who is this?"

"She's my cousin."

A man who appeared to be of Indian descent looked angered. "No, Chuck. _No_. No. No. No. No."

Chuck looked bewildered. "What's wrong?"

"_Chuck!_" Indian Dude exclaimed, as if Chuck were too stupid to understand. "This wasn't how it was supposed to work! Your cousin was supposed to be this beautiful, _gorgeous_ woman with every physical aspect deserving men (like us) desire!"

I stared, absolutely revolted.

Then the forty-something year old one said, "She's not supposed to be from Middle School!"

They all nodded in agreement.

"Lester," Chuck tried to explain, annoyed. "You know, it's _not_ my fault –"

Lester, the Indian dude, cut him off. "Yes, it is, Chuck! It is totally, completely your fault! You should have told us that she was underage! Tell him, Jeff!"

"Yeah!" Jeff, the forty-year-old, exclaimed. "The plan was to get her drunk so we could actually get laid!"

My last strand of patience had been completely worn through. Something in my mind snapped, and I turned on Jeff, the nearest Nerd Herder to me. I did the most horrible thing a woman could do to mankind.

I nailed him with my foot, straight between his legs.

Jeff choked, his face contorting in such a way that it was absolutely impossible for me not to laugh – but I didn't because I was so infuriated. His hands went to his crotch and he keeled over, groaning.

"Anyone _else_?" I demanded, whipping around. Surrounded by nerdy men, I wasn't intimidated. They shook their heads, trying to make themselves (and their tender areas) less noticeable. "Then _get out_!"

It was then I noticed that another person, a stranger, had walked in, probably alerted by the commotion. He was a burly man with a square jaw and with serious muscles. He was shorter than Chuck, but he looked like he could take on everyone in the room and a Great White Shark at the same time. His eyes went from the enraged me to the whimpering Jeff on the floor. He looked vaguely impressed.

"I like your friends, Chuck," I said sarcastically. "When I find my room, I'm taking a nap."

Chuck gladly showed me my room. I dumped my stuff and collapsed on the bed, wiped. Jet lag can really get to you, I guess. I hadn't been on a plane in years, and I had forgotten I shouldn't have been sleeping on the ride.

It was hard to say what I dreamed about. It mostly a random jumble of things. Mostly planes crashing into the Pacific while I watched on a mountain, sipping hot chocolate and enjoying the looks of terror in the windows. One of those faces was Rebecca Oswald.

One particular plane crash woke me up with a start, the huge tsunami rising up over the mountain I was on and crashing down on me. I was breathing hard, but otherwise okay and perfectly dry. I checked my clock. Six O'clock. Well, looks like I missed dinner.

That wasn't the case.

Merely seconds after I recovered from the my natural disaster of a dream, Ellie rushed in, all smiles. "Oh, good, you're awake! C'mon, dinner is ready!"

She left in the blink of an eye. Literally. I yawned and the next thing I knew, I was staring at an empty doorway. I found myself staring at the empty space stupidly, wondering where the plane had gone.

Getting up, I tried to shake the sleepiness away. I smelled seafood, and instantly a smile tugged at my lips. I liked seafood, especially lobster.

Stretching, I exited my bedroom. The smell grew stronger as I tromped down the stairs, from which I followed to the kitchen. I came in and bright lights blinded me. Shielding my eyes, I saw that Morgan had donned chef clothing and was adding the finishing touches to his meal, which looked extraordinary.

He noticed me and said immediately, "Please don't hurt me."

"I wasn't going to. This smells great."

Morgan looked relieved.

I walked around the counter, pinpointing the dining table. However, I was just about to sit down when I noticed the burly dude from earlier and a pretty blonde girl already sitting at the table. There was no way I was eating with total strangers.

"Chuck?" I asked, looking at my seated cousin. "Who are they?"

"Oh," Chuck said. "Right, I forgot. Sam, this is Casey and Sara, my girlfriend."

I had to force down the urge to gawk. I didn't think someone like Chuck was capable of having a girlfriend. But Chuck _was _rather attractive (this coming from a girl who is not only his cousin but also hasn't seen a boy for the past four years), so what did I know?

"Nice to meet you," Sarah held out her hand. I took it.

"Sit, everyone, sit!" Ellie said, scurrying into the room. "Sit! Hey, where's Devon? Devon! DEVON! WHERE ARE YOU?"

"Coming!" Devon (A.K.A. Captain Awesome) rushed in, his shirt slightly askew. "Jeez, calm down."

Morgan came in, carrying several steaming plates of oysters and shrimp. "Bon appetite."

It didn't look like an actual meal, so I asked, "Appetizers?"

Morgan pointed at me, winking, "Correctamundo, Mademoiselle."

I shrugged, smiling slightly. I never really had appetizers at dinner before, mostly because my usual dinners consisted of a mixture of chicken nuggets and ravioli. It's nice to have a (relatively) formal meal.

"So," Sarah said, casual, "Where did you come from, Sam? Chuck didn't really tell us a lot about you."

"I came from Montana," I replied, not looking at anyone. "But I was born in California. My parents moved out when I was a year and a half."

"Oh." Sarah sounded mildly surprised. "Why did you move?"

I shrugged. "My dad's job gets him sent all around the U.S. We've lived in Florida, Tennessee, Nevada, North Carolina, New York, Texas, Kentucky, and Michigan. Montana was my favorite, though."

"I bet you snowboard," Devon guessed accurately, then gave me a wicked grin. "We could race something. That'd be awesome."

"Uh, sure…I guess…"

"Did you go to school where you came from?"

"No. I'm homeschooled. Or was. Mom's been teaching me pretty much everything I needed to know. We figured that all the moving doesn't exactly contribute help me keep friends." I frowned. "But I'm used to it."

"So you were in a secluded area?" Sarah asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Pretty much," I looked at my food, gloomy thoughts in my mind. "We had Internet, but my mom didn't want me making friends or pen pals or whatever online."

"Isn't that a little suppressive?" Ellie asked, on the verge of alarm. "What do you do without friends?"

"I dunno," I was at a loss of words. "I mean, it's been like that for a while. Now surrounded by absolute strangers, it's weird."

"We're not strangers!" Devon said, affronted.

We looked at him.

"Okay, maybe we are." He muttered, avoiding our gaze.

I was about to say something else, but then the timer ringed and Morgan jumped from the table, nearly knocking the whole thing over. "Lobster's ready!"

I decided to forget about it.

The conversation strayed from me after that. I learned more about the others – such as, Chuck and Sarah had been dating for two years (Devon hinted that it's an on-off thing), Ellie and Devon moved into the next apartment to because it was closer to Chuck, and Morgan moved in because both he and Chuck both got their jobs back at the Buy More.

When I asked them what that was, they explained it was a store that sold all the things you could ever want in life – basically, Wal-Mart, except with a different name.

To be honest, I was disappointed. Why would Chuck be working at a store like that if he graduated from Stanford? Wouldn't he be a mathematician at some university or science lab?

I also found out that Ellie and Devon met at medical school during night classes. They sometimes spent it in the Supply Closet. Then after a while of dating, they got married.

And Morgan…I don't know. His culinary skills were obvious, and he left Burbank to work as a chef someplace in Hawaii. But for some reason he came back (although he was apparently making some good money over there). I think he would've been better off in Hawaii than here with Chuck.

Then there was Sarah herself and Casey. Other than the fact that she was Chuck's girlfriend and Casey worked at the Buy More as well, there wasn't much left to know about them. Sarah owned a yogurt shop called Orange-Orange.

And that about concludes my rather dysfunctional family in Burbank, California. Somehow, I wish my mom just kept me and moved to another state. This was _so_ not worth the first-class trip.


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

**Sam vs.**_** Buy More**_

Because Chuck, like my mother, seemingly did not trust me to handle myself, he took me to the Buy More, which was the next to last place I ever wanted to go. The _very last_ would be jail, but that's beside the point.

When we arrived, Lester was waiting menacingly.

"Well, hello there," he eyed me with apparent wariness. "How wonderful of you to enter…your worst nightmare."

"Yeah, whatever," I said, rolling my eyes and pushing past him. "Chuck, tell me a couple things before I almost die here,"

Chuck looked around. "Okay, well, first of all, umm…"

I saw the guys from yesterday, sneering at me. "Oh, great."

Most of them were making threatening signals to me while others were staring daggers. Perhaps they were hoping that I'd disintegrate into ashes or return to the darkest pits of Hell from which I came from.

"Oh, right," Chuck caught my attention again. "Okay, think of this place as a jungle. Me: Safe. Everyone else: dangerous. You need any help, you come to me, okay?"

"Yeah, sure." I said, crossing my arms and keeping an eye on the vengeful nerds. "What if they try to, I don't know, Kung Fu my butt or something?"

"Well, to be perfectly honest, I _think_ you can handle that," he said, with just a hint of sarcasm. "However, if you feel the sadistic urge to hurl them out a window, feel free to do so. At least you don't have to worry about being fired, like the rest of us."

I grinned. "Okay."

"Oh, and one more thing," he said, just as I was about to turn away. "Just stay in the vicinity of the Nerd Herd service desk area," he motioned to the large circular desk in the middle of the store. "Usually the creeps stay away from there. And try to stay on Big Mike's good side."

"_Who_?"

"BARTOWSKI!" Boomed a voice so thunderous it made me jump. "Who is this? A new recruit?"

I turned around and stared up at just about the largest man I had ever seen. His skin was dark, his cheeks meaty, and his fists looking like boulders that could snap me in half.

"Um, no," Chuck said immediately. "She's my, um, cousin. She's visiting for the summer."

"Oh," Big Mike looked down at me, appraising. "Scrawny seems to run in the family, don't it?" Then he laughed, "I'm Big Mike."

He patted me on the shoulder, and I felt my knees buckle underneath the weight.

"Sam," I mumbled, wincing. "Just Sam."

"Good. Let's hope you have the same charm and determination Chuck has. This store needs more people like him."

There were many things I could have said to that were far from charming, but I held my tongue. This was guy that could easily pound me into the dirt.

"Sure."

Big Mike lumbered away, yelling at other coworkers with a ferocity that was far from the respect he gave Chuck.

"Scrawny?" I looked at Chuck.

Chuck shrugged his "scrawny" shoulders. He was about as confused as I was.

I shook my head, then went to the desk. The interior side was laden with high-tech laptops and several phones. I sat down in a swivel chair, looking around the store in wonder.

"What do you do as part of the Nerd Herd?" I asked, genuinely interested.

Chuck leaned against the desk. "Help customers. Make home calls."

"Cool."

"Well, you can go on the computer if you want," Chuck offered. "I mean, if you get hungry, the break room is behind the doors over there, along with the bathroom and the supply closet." He pointed over my shoulder.

"Okay."

"You don't waste your words, do you?"

"…No."

"Alright, just checking," He gave me a thumbs-up.

Out of nowhere, Casey passed by and said a single word to Chuck, "Overtime."

"Oh," Chuck looked surprised, then went to follow Casey, calling over his shoulder, "I have to go. Um, important conference. Employees only."

"But what if I…?" I was about to ask, standing up, but Chuck replied just as quickly.

"If you need anything, ask Morgan!"

Then he was gone, disappearing behind a backdoor.

I sighed, then slumped back into my chair.

Then, without warning, the chair rotated of its own accord, turning around 180 degrees until I was looking into Lester's face, Jeff staring at me over his shoulder.

"Hello?"

"Good morning, Sam," Lester smirked. "I'm afraid Chuck as forgotten to give you the official Nerd Herd tutorial. How unfortunate."

Immediately, I felt apprehensive. "But I don't work here."

"That doesn't matter." He said, and I felt the chair being propelled from behind. I looked over my shoulder to see Jeff pushing me. "Allow my good friend Jeff and I to show you around."

"No, it's okay," I got up. "I can walk just fine by myself."

But Lester wasn't discouraged, pushing me firmly by the tips of his fingers back into the seat. "I _insist_, Samantha. It's only common courtesy to do so for those of Chuck's honorable family name."

"Alright," I frowned. "Full steam ahead."

"Well, as you can see," Lester commentated as I rolled around in the store. "Every Nerd Herd member is prized, invaluable. We work as a system, fitting together like cogs in a clock. We are like a well-oiled machine."

As if on cue, a Nerd Herd member stumbled into a display case and sent it crashing to the floor. Lester winced, but continued.

"Now, Chuck, he is the epitome of Nerd Herd-ism. He is a hard-worker and every member of the Nerd Herd strives to be like him." Lester turned to me. "Now, with you in the equation, I believe we have run into difficulties. You distract Chuck. You cause disarray. You are the wrench that has been thrown in between the cogs of the clock. Everything is blown into chaos because of you."

"Okay…"

"Now, I must ask you," he said, leaning in close. "Will you continue being a problem?"

"Um…"

"Good," he said abruptly, not allowing my answer. "You can start by mopping the maintenance section. I'm afraid Dylan has caused an unfortunate mess over there." He pointed to the other end of the store.

"Uh, no," I said, standing up. "I don't work here, and I don't plan to either."

"You do now." He forced a mop, which magically seemed to appear out of thin air, into my hand.

He also forced me to do something I would've preferred not doing, but now I had no other choice.

A loud clatter echoed through the store as a clumsy employee knocked over three entire aisles of CDs and DVDs. People turned and stared, craning their heads to see what had happened. Several employees rushed over to help, looking bewildered.

"Oops," I said innocently, then backed away slowly. "Looks like you've created quite a mess, Lester!"

And with that, I scurried away.

I returned to the Nerd Herd desk and claimed another chair. Ha.

Suddenly, the doors of the store burst open and a woman hurried inside, looking extremely frazzled. She didn't look much older than Chuck or Sarah. Her red hair was wind-blown, her coat twisted awkwardly with some buttons in the wrong hole, and I was pretty sure her shoes were each on the wrong feet.

Her eyes settled immediately on me at the Nerd Herd service desk and I felt myself stiffen. Uh-oh.

"Excuse me!" she said, approaching. "Can you help me? I'm looking for a hard drive because my friend needs one really bad because his old one got fried by a computer virus and I really need to –"

"Wait," I interrupted her, afraid that if I let her go on talking I'd never escape, "I'm sorry, but I don't work here. You can ask one of them, though." I pointed to Lester and Jeff, who were trying to lift the toppled shelves and put the CDs back in order again.

"Alright, thanks," she said dubiously, apparently questioning why I'd point to the least promising customer-service rep in the building. I felt kind of bad, but Lester shouldn't have bothered me in the first place. He deserved it.

As I watched her walk away, I had to admit that her shoes, despite her exhausted state, were each on the right foot. Oh, well.

And to think I was looking forward to that. Man, I must be really desperate to wish for something so stupid.

Watching Lester struggle was amusing, but when a man came through the doors, I immediately snapped to, in case he decided to come to me first.

But the man didn't turn to me. In a way, it kind of relieved me, because that meant there was one less misunderstanding in the world. Too bad all relief ended there. The man looked suspicious, looking around as if he thought he was being followed. He kept his hands in his pockets, arms tight to his sides. He was wearing a work coat and dark, _dark_ sunglasses and a striped New York Yankees baseball cap that he didn't bother to take off. Who wears sunglasses and a cap in a building?

His work boots left an enormous amount of sand on the tiled floor like he just came from a nice stroll on the beach. It left a mess, but none of the Buy More employees thought of sweeping it up. I guess it wasn't just me to think this place was full of lazy slackers and ne'er-do-wells.

Oh, geez, I made them sound like pirates. As _if_.

But the man didn't do anything worrisome, despite his appearance. I mean, he was looking in the _kitchen appliances_ section. How threatening is that? I soon lost interest. I rested my head in my arms, bored. After a while, I dozed off.

My brain turned itself off. Just like that, as if I had a mental switch. I was perfectly fine with this, because I was still trying to overcome the jet lag. I was only two days into California – I needed to conquer this thing!

But sleep was tempting, even if it was already mid-morning. And I like sleeping in the day – somehow, I get more rest. Or, it feels like it.

"Hey."

I jumped in surprise. I stuttered something intelligent, like, "Uh, um, what?"

I looked and saw…the absolute cutest boy on the universe.

And this coming from a girl who's been isolated from any and all social life for the past four years. Minus TV shows, but they don't count.

"Could you help me?" he asked.

The first thing I noticed (other than his obvious cuteness) was a _solid, bona fide English accent._

Whoa.

That. Is. _Awesome._

"Um, sure," I blinked.

The next thing I noticed was that he had short blond hair; had dark, serious eyes; about five foot seven; and seemed to be rather muscular. And that he was roughly the same age as me.

I was amazed my tongue hadn't swelled up to the size of a melon and I suddenly lost all ability to speak. I was amazed that he even walked up to me. Then common sense came knocking and reminded me that I was the only one at the Nerd Herd front desk – who _else_ would he come to?

"Have you seen a lady come by?" he asked, completely oblivious to my own stupefaction. "Medium height, frizzy red hair, a little loopy?"

My mind pushed through the clouded thoughts about how cute he was and searched through the archives of recent customers. Oh, yeah. The frazzled woman?

"Yeah, she's over there," I pointed her out to him. The woman was looking uncertainly at Lester, who was trying to fix the shelves and direct her in the correct direction at the same time. He was doing a bad job at both, since the cases were in the wrong genres and instead of pointing at the computer hardware aisle, he was motioning towards the barbecue grills.

"Thanks." he smiled at me, then left.

_He smiled at me_.

All my dreams had come true. My life's goal has been fulfilled. If I died right now, I'd die happy.

However, I didn't die. Instead, I ended watching him dreamily from a distance, a goofy smile on my face.

But that all disappeared when the woman and boy walked away, talking, and Lester turned to give me a death glare.

Uh-oh.

He started making his way towards me, and my mind immediately went to RED ALERT, RED ALERT, RED ALERT.

Thankfully, another customer halted him for some information, and I took my chance to escape his clutches.

Vaulting over the desk, I brushed past some people (which, I later realized, included the cute boy and the redheaded woman) and made my way quickly out the door.

It wasn't until then did I realize I had no transportation home, no_body_ home, and Chuck had no idea where I was.

Then I remembered: _My bike!_ Mom had sent it in, but it had come in a little late. It was supposed to be in by today – I mean, how long can you lose a bike in a plane's luggage compartment? Besides, I was informed that it'd be carried the closest location I was at.

On the other hand, finding it in the bike racks at the Buy More was a little weird. Who had left it there? How did they know where to find me, if it wasn't at home? And how did they know which lock I happened to use?

Right then, it didn't exactly matter, because I wanted to make for a quick getaway, and odd coincidences like that weren't going to stop me. Thankfully, it was my old lock, the one I actually set the combination to. Flicking the right numbers, I heard a satisfying click as my bike was released.

Rolling up the chain and stuffing it in my pocket, I hopped onto the bike and left. No reason to stay, anyhow. Maybe I'll check out the scenery.

Pedaling at a pleasant speed, I left the Buy More parking lot and skipped over the road. On the other side, I bumped onto the sidewalk. It was quiet around here, and I enjoyed the peace. It reminded me of Montana, although over there were more trees, mountains, and not as many people. Remembering the way home, I decided to take a short cut.

Okay, maybe a _long_ short cut. I just wanted time to myself so I could think. And I could only really think when I was moving, doing something that didn't require too much thinking. Such as, exercise.

I was probably biking around for about ten minutes at a slow rate when I heard another bike coming up from behind me. I didn't acknowledge the sound for several minutes, enveloped in my thoughts as they wandered from one subject to another, daydreaming about Montana and my parents.

However, when I did acknowledge the sound, and realize the fact that whoever the bike belonged to was _following me_, without introducing themselves or whatever, I got a little creeped out. Especially by the fact that they seemed to be trying to make as little noise as possible. With the rising feeling of wariness inside me, I felt a strange apprehension to looking behind me. Somehow, the superstitious side of me didn't want to chance the idea that if I did look back, something bad or very unlucky might happen to me.

Don't ask me why. I bet you'd get these feelings too if you were in my situation.

After a moment of strange silence, I summed up my courage and called out behind me, "Hey, whoever's stalking me – please stop."

I heard a laugh behind me. "I'm not _stalking_ you,"

I almost crashed my bike into a mailbox.

It was _him_.


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

**Sam vs. **_**the Boy**_

A person pedaled up beside me. I sidled to the left to give them space, trying hard not to hyperventilate.

"Hey," he said.

"Um, hi." I said shortly, then cursing myself for not inventing something more creative. "Why are you following me like an old creepy guy?"

He looked at me. "Is it not normal for a boy to be interested in the opposite gender?"

Oh, my _God_, that accent was so...tantalizing. However, his comment made me blush a million shades of red. Could he tell? He could tell, couldn't he? "Uh, well, I guess not…"

The boy smiled at me. "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean in _that_ way."

"Oh, right. Of course not." I said, my voice shaking a little. After a brief moment of awkward silence, I blurted out, "What's your name?"

"That depends. What's yours?"

I was about to say it out loud, before I stopped myself and glared at him. "Oh, ha-ha, you're so funny."

"I happen to pride myself of being a bit of a joker." He said, tilting his chin up a little as he threw me a cheeky smile.

"Sure." I rolled my eyes, but had to smile nonetheless, because I was hopelessly charmed. "But seriously, who are you?"

He held out his right hand, which I found extremely talented as he reached over his other arm to me, his left the only one on the handlebar. "I'm Rider. Alex Rider."

Balancing myself carefully, I took it. "Oh, you're the James Bond sort?"

He laughed. "You could say that,"

Is it just me, or did a strange look cross his face for that brief second? I couldn't tell – it was gone in a flash, so I couldn't read it. I don't think I would've noticed it if my gut hadn't told me. My gut was telling me a lot of things, mostly that he was really nice to look at. But whatever. That's why he had re-captivated my attention before I could think real deeply about it.

I smiled. "Well, I'm Samantha. But Sam for short."

"Well, good to meet you, Sam." Alex said pleasantly. My spine tingled at the way his voice formed my name. "Are you new here?"

I looked at him. "What makes you think that?"

"I've been here for a couple months, and I've never seen _you_ before."

I shrugged, then lied as colorfully as I could. "I just moved in with my cousin. My parents wanted me away so they could repair their marriage or whatever."

"What's wrong with their marriage?" Alex frowned curiously.

"Like I know," I grumbled. I felt surprisingly pleased by how well he was buying my act, even though a small part of me felt guilty for doing so. There really wasn't anything to be ashamed about the truth. It was just…the truth was kind of awkward. And I didn't like talking about it with cute boys who I barely knew. "They never yelled. They never fought. I have no idea what's wrong."

"One of them wasn't, I don't know…" Alex said tentatively, as if he were treading on thin ice, "Having a, uh, affair?"

I almost snorted. "No way, man. There weren't exactly a lot of women besides me and my mom that my dad was around."

"Well, I wish I could say I knew the problem," Alex shrugged. "But I don't. I'm sorry, though."

"Ah, don't be," I dismissed the thought. "It's no big deal, really. Besides, I kinda like California. I guess."

Alex gave me a skeptical look.

I sighed. "Okay, I hate it. But it's not like I have a lot of choice, you know? My mom isn't going to fly me back, my cousins' don't have the money, and neither do I. So, basically, I'm stuck here till...whenever my parents get bored of arguing."

"And how long will that be?"

"At least the whole summer. Maybe longer if my parents can't figure it out by then."

Then I realized with extreme embarrassment that I sounded really self-centered. In an attempt for redemption, I jumped to say, "Well, enough about me. What about you? What about your parents?"

There was a short second of silence before he said, "They're dead."

He stared straight ahead, not meeting my eyes.

"Oh," my voice had reduced to a small whisper, surprised by his abrupt tone, which had turned from cheerfully polite to grim coldness. So much for my redemption. "I didn't mean to offend you or anything –"

"No, it's okay," Alex cut me off, his voice a little friendlier. He gave me a small smile, as if to make sure that I hadn't just made myself to be a horrible person. "You didn't know."

I suppose not. And there really wasn't much else for me to say about the matter. I mean, Alex has probably heard it all, hasn't he? What could I say that could bring anything new to the table? I sighed, trying to think of another topic. "So…why are you here? Who was that lady you were with earlier at the Buy More?"

"Oh, that's Jack," he said, more brightly now that the conversation had left his parents' present situation. "She's my guardian. We're here on a sort of vacation, I guess. I came here with Sabina."

"Sabina?" I almost choked. Oh, crap, was I trespassing on some other girl's boyfriend? I could only think of all the soap opera fates that went bad after situations like this. I had to ask because there was no way around it, "Is she your girlfriend?"

He shook his head, smiling. "No, she's just a friend."

"Oh." I said, relieved, then feeling guilty for that reaction. "Does she like it here?"

"Oh, yeah," he chuckled. "She loves the waves."

"Waves?" I asked, as if I had no idea what the word meant.

"Yeah, you know," he gave me a look, and after meeting my blank one, continued. "The beach?"

"We have a beach?" I asked, looking around wildly as if I actually expected to see one pop up right around the corner. I realized how stupid that was only after the fact (I probably would have smelled it first), but Alex apparently thought my reaction was funny.

He laughed again. "Yes, we do. I can show you sometime, if you like."

"That'd be nice," I smiled, settling back down on the seat of my bike. How long had we been going at this? I wasn't sure if I even knew where I was anymore. Hopefully I could find a map somewhere. "Do you know how to surf?"

He nodded. "Sabina taught me. What about you?"

"My Dad. A business trip to the Bahamas." I lied, just as easily as before. I hated how it just slipped off my tongue like I had actually spoken the truth. It was like I committed a crime that I got away with, and did it again because I knew I wouldn't get caught.

"The Bahamas?" he looked impressed. "What does he do?"

"He's a doctor. Some meeting they do several times a year to, like, talk about diseases and cures and things. Medical stuff, I guess. He's part of _Doctors Without Borders_. He goes on a lot of business trips with them. He's coming back to America in a couple weeks." I lied, smiling up at the palm trees because I totally hated myself right now.

"What field is he in?"

"Emergency Room," I replied, happy to know that didn't come too hard to mind. And, you know, that it was the entire truth and not something I made up. The next part was also wasn't a lie. "He's totally serious about his job."

"Nice. Jack's studying law." Alex explained. "She's hoping to be a criminal justice lawyer."

"Sounds like hard work," I commented, avoiding a tipped trashcan. It wasn't like I actually knew a lot about laws and stuff, but I figured it was general knowledge that becoming a lawyer is a tough road to travel. I glanced at my watch and was startled by how much time had passed. "Oh, my gosh. My cousins are going to freak if I don't get back home right _now_. They don't trust me on my own."

"Really?" Alex asked, sounding a little amused. "How come?"

"Trust me, you don't want to know," I said quickly, looking over my shoulder. I could only imagine all the stories Mom told to Chuck and Ellie about me getting into trouble, how easily I can get lost. One time I was snowboarding alone and got lost on the mountain we lived on and Mom was on the verge of calling the military before I stumbled onto a campsite full of moose hunters and managed to borrow a phone and a ride home. Now that I was in a completely alien environment near both the Pacific Ocean and an airport, the odds of me winding up in Hawaii doubled. "I have to go home. See you."

I was about to leave before either of my cousins realized I had never owned a map, but Alex (gently) grabbed my arm. "Wait. When can I see you again?"

I almost died with happiness when he said that, then remembered I had to give him an answer. "Oh, um, I'll probably be at the Buy More. I mean, like, come around whenever you have the time. I'll probably be there most of the time."

"Okay," he smiled. "Cool."

"Cool," I repeated, liking the sound of it. "Well, see you later."

"See you." He paused for a moment. "Um, do you want me to take you home? I mean, you never know…"

"No, it's okay," I giggled, because I'm a total dork. "I can take care of myself."

"Well, how about for _my_ protection?" he grinned.

"Sorry," I shook my head, smiling. "You're on your own, Mr. Bond. See you."

He shrugged his shoulders, accepting the fact that his attempt failed with a smirk. "Yeah. You too."

I don't know why, but I felt really disappointed when I left. Why had I made that excuse in the first place? It wasn't like I _cared_ if my cousins were concerned about my whereabouts. But still. I knew that if I hung around long enough, I'd do something stupid and make a complete fool of myself, and I couldn't risk _that_.

Like winding up in the middle of downtown LA. I wondered if that could actually happen, if I decided not to go home. Then I decided not the risk an impromptu tour of a huge city with no knowledge of how streets worked, because Mom would kill me if I got run over by a taxi. Looking around, I remembered a nearby street and followed my inner map home.

Speeding on my bike, I arrived in Echo Park in a matter of minutes. The condominium was easy to spot, what with three cars parked outside on the street, one of them a Nerd Herder, which was weird, because both Chuck and Morgan were supposed to be at work (as far as I knew). The other was Ellie's as I noticed earlier when she left for groceries this morning, and the third was a shiny Crown Victoria, probably owned by one of the neighbors I was sure we had.

I entered the house.

Morgan was slouched at the dinner table, eating a measly sandwich and looking a little weary. I paused before crossing the threshold, wondering why he was here. I didn't have a complete knowledge of the routine here, but I was pretty sure lunch break didn't happen until, you know, noon.

"Hey," I said as I closed the door behind me. "Are you alone?"

Morgan turned and gave me a look that clearly answered my question.

"Oh, sorry," I said, biting my lip. I looked around, hoping that there might be another distraction from this increasingly odd conversation. Cute boys were enough for one day. And I didn't really know Morgan that well. "Is Chuck here?"

Morgan shook his head. "No."

"But isn't this his lunch break, too?" I asked – I knew because I checked the schedule on the Nerd Herd desk. Even though Morgan was here an hour early, I assumed that Chuck would have been with him. Because, you know, they're best friends and all? I mean, that's what friends do, right? I mean, if I was going to ditch the Buy More while on duty, I'd do it with somebody I trusted. I still had to get the hang of this stuff. "Where is he?"

"I dunno," he said around a mouthful of ham and lettuce. "Last I saw him was at the Buy More. Then he took off on a call. He's taking longer than he said he would. I had to have Lester cover his shift and you know how _he_ reacted to that."

As a matter of fact, I didn't, although I had a pretty good idea what it would have been. "Yeah, sorry, man," I said, acting like I actually knew what I was talking about. "How come you don't fire him? Aren't you the manager or something?"

Morgan explained, "_Assistant_ manager, actually. That's the only leverage I have on them. If I threaten to fire them, I can get them to do anything I want them to do. Unless they think I'm bluffing, which I'm _not._"

The anger in his tone made me feel like he was about to launch into a tirade about his co-workers. I was right.

"You know, it's always irritating when people who used to be your friends treat you like their ultimate nemesis just because you were promoted just because your mother and your boss are dating (which I totally don't agree with). Then they go out of their way to make your life absolutely miserable. It's like our friendship had dissolved into thin air. And right when I need Chuck the most, he's off in his own little world, always taking the home calls. Chuck is the symbol of the Buy More, you know. He's charming, has good looks, really tall – everything I'm not. And he always gets the girls, too! Half the time I don't even _know_ if he and Sarah really hate each other. First they're over, then next thing you know, they making out in the parking lot. It's just so confusing!" he exclaimed, really finishing off the ending. Panting, he looked at me, "You know what I mean?"

I really didn't want to answer that, because I didn't have one. This wasn't a situation I wanted to be in, nor was it the one I was expecting when I got home. Frowning, I answered Morgan without really thinking, making up words in my mouth as I inched towards the hallway.

"Well…maybe….I don't know…you're, like, the sidekick and maybe Chuck's the hero – he relies on you like you rely on him. Since you do so much for him…. like… covering his shifts… and… stuff… maybe… he should do something for you as a thank you…"

By then, I had passed the bathroom and was a couple feet away from my door. I heard Morgan say, "Yeah…yeah, maybe you're right, Sam. Maybe now it's time for _Chuck_ to do something for _me_. I mean, I'm doing all the menial work, I should get some reward, right? Man, that is some good advice, Sam, thanks."

I mumbled something unintelligible and dashed into my room before he could get me any more deeply involved.

But there wasn't anything waiting for me in my room, and I realized in a moment of stupidity that I was going to be bored for the rest of the summer because I had nothing to do.

Well, I _did_ have my laptop, and there were plenty of options there. But I wasn't in the mood to slump over the computer for the rest of the day. I had to _do something_. Walk, run, punch someone in the gut, anything but stay inside and do nothing. I needed to get these aggressive urges out of my body before I got overwhelmed. I mean, who just does nothing all day?

It would just eliminate the purpose of even being in California. With all its forests and cities and exciting places, who was I to stick around like a bump on a log and do nothing while there was a world outside to discover?

Alright, now I was sounding like an over-excited kid's movie. Need to do something. Need to do something.

I looked at my duffle bag almost on an impulse. Don't ask me why, my eyes just happened to cross it. It was open. That was weird. I hadn't touched it ever since I got here.

Bending down, I dug into it, trying to think what I had put in here. Then I remembered – it was Mom who packed this one. She did it as a bonus since I had done so well on my French vocabulary test. I wondered what she put in here. I thought I had packed everything I needed for the trip.

Apparently, I thought wrong.

I withdrew my skateboard (I had gotten it on my thirteenth birthday when I lived in Kentucky. It fell into disuse once I went back to Montana, but now I could think of plenty of places to use it in Burbank, California), and an extra set of wheels and ball bearings. I dug deeper.

I found three very pretty and stylish bikinis that Mom must've have bought when she was out for groceries a couple weeks before I left Montana. I felt tears come to my eyes. I have never worn a bikini since I was twelve, which then I had yet to fill out in my lady-like curves (trust me, there still aren't a lot now) and become more of a woman. I hoped I wouldn't look absolutely horrible in these. I had no idea how Mom could figure out if these fit right or not.

Next, I found a pair of board shorts that, amazingly, went well with all of my swimsuits. I shook my head to myself – it had to be a miracle for something like that to happen, especially with my mom. Because even though she's pretty for Mom (it's hard to think your mom is attractive, but I had the general idea of what other people thought when she gets stares every time we go in public), but that didn't mean she had a good fashion sense. At home, she just liked to wear sweatpants and pajamas and dirty overalls, because what's the point of looking good if no one's going to see it?

After that, my fingertips grazed a bit of paper and I pulled it out. An envelope. Opening it, I gaped at the check for almost five hundred dollars. A little note was attached to it.

_For all your surf boarding needs on the beach. I miss you._

_Love,_

_Mom_

I was overcome with emotion. Somehow, Mom just knew what I needed, even when I didn't (because, obviously, I didn't know there was a beach within 8,000 kilometers from here). It wouldn't occur to me later that I didn't have a bank account to check this in. Maybe that's what Mom intended, or maybe she just wasn't paying attention. Either way, I probably wouldn't be spending much time surfing with all the other stuff she provided me with.

Wiping the small traces of tears from my eyes, because having money is awesome, I delved deeper into the Mysteries of the Duffle Bag.

To my bewilderment, I brought out a pair of rock-climbing shoes, helmet, gloves, and complete with a harness and a long piece of rope. My eyebrows shot up. Mom expected me to use _these_?

They weren't the strangest to come out of all of this, though. Apparently, rock-climbing essentials were not the only things my mom thought I would ever have to use in California.

Next on the list of crazy and wacko things were a wet suit (as if the waters in California were ever cold in the summer), a pair of rather expensive looking sunglasses, a bottle of SPF 120 sunscreen (okay, so I burn under the sun, but not _that_ bad), a can of bug spray, a tube of zit cream (Is my face really that bad? It's wonderful to know Mom thinks so), and a metal Louisville Slugger (but no balls). I also found a pack of breath-refreshing gum (gee, thanks), and some elastic hair bands.

I don't think Mom was being very careful when she was cramming stuff in here (I suggest consideration in moderation – seriously, someone like me could get very offended by this). I mean, bug spray with a weird extra trigger? Was she even _looking_ when she took that off the shelf in the market? I was worried about her sanity.

When I had thought I had cleaned the bag out, my fingers came across one last item. Pulling it out, I saw that it was a box wrapped in brown paper and twine, like in old movies. I frowned. There was a tag attached.

_Open this box when you need it the most, and not before. You will know when the time is right._

_Love, Mom_

Okay, this just about tops the Weird List. Not only did I get the Pandora's-extremely-tempted-to-open-strange-and-my sterious-boxes urge, but I had a feeling that it was dangerous, too. Who writes a letter like that and sends you something that's totally not meant to be used seriously? 'Only when you need it'? I had no idea what that meant, or how'd I know. Or how'd she think I'd know. Was I just supposed to hope that meeting a cute boy was enough to open Pandora's Box?

I shook the Pandora's Box (I've decided that's what I'm calling now, since I'm such a geek for mythology. Blame my dad for that one.), just to see if I could guess what it was. Nothing moved inside, but the considerable weight in my hands told me it wasn't empty.

I set it aside, a little confused. I didn't know when the time was right, but I was assuming it wasn't now. I frowned. If someone had taken something from the duffle bag, there was a good chance I would never know.

_DA-DA-DA-DUMMMM!_

I gasped as the sudden blast filled the air, shaking the very floor underneath my feet. I dropped Pandora's Box in my jump of surprise, but it earned no wounds from crashing to the ground. The thump assured me nothing was broken.

_DUN-DUN-DUN-DUMMMM!_

More shaking, and I stumbled onto my bed. I grasped the sheets, looking around for the source. What the heck was _that_? It sounded like…music? I couldn't see the source of it. It just felt like it was all around me, everywhere.

I got up, covering my ears from the insane volume, and rushed downstairs.

The TV was on in the living room. The volume was turned up all the way, the speakers shaking violently. I could hear the glass in the cabinets vibrating along with the music. Morgan was on the couch staring at the TV with a look of boredom on his face. He didn't seem to notice that the noise was obscenely loud, or that the neighbors might call the cops. He raised the remote and changed the channel.

The music was still _really _loud, only more annoying now that the TV was showing a diaper commercial. Scooting past Morgan and his slouch couch, I muscled past the ear-splitting noise and managed to mute the TV.

The house went dead quiet. Silence is golden, as they say.

"Dude!" I exclaimed, probably a lot louder than I meant to because I couldn't hear my own voice. I waved my arms in the air, trying to get a reaction out of him. "Are you freaking deaf or something? Other people live here!"

Morgan seemed to realize I existed only after I blocked his view of the TV screen. "Move, please."

"No!" I snapped, my hearing returning. All that there was now was a really loud ringing in my ears. "You need to man up, little man! The neighbors are probably freaking out right now!"

"What neighbors?"

I made a face. Stepping over to him, I wrenched the remote from his hands, turned down the volume, then removed the mute option. The TV started issuing sound again, only at a much more pleasant level.

"What's with you today? I thought you were all okay a couple minutes ago?"

"It's all a lie, Sam."

I stared at him, utterly confused. I couldn't tell if he was quoting a movie or actually being serious. "_What_?"

"There's nothing left. It's all over."

Right. He's overreacting. Time to intervene.

"Okay, that's it," I said, dropping the remote and taking Morgan by the shirtfront and heaving him up off the couch with way more violence than I had initially intended. Both of us were surprised by my sudden burst of strength, and Morgan stared at me wide-eyed in fear, afraid that I might pound him.

"Please!" He begged, struggling to touch the ground. "Don't hurt me! I'll do anything."

I let go of him unceremoniously, still a little surprised at my own strength, and Morgan dropped back to his feet, looking disheveled. I frowned at him. I didn't like solving other people's problem when they were totally capable of it themselves. "I'm not going to hurt you, doofus. I want you to get off your butt and go back to the Buy More and do your stinking job."

"But…why?"

"Because," I grimaced, trying to think of a good reason. It wasn't like I thought working at the Buy More was a good idea, either. "Because…just because! It's your job, your responsibility, now go do it!"

Then I added as an afterthought. "And Big Mike's gonna pound you if you're late!"

I didn't know if this was true or not, because Big Mike's disposition apparently depended on who he was talking to, so I didn't know what his relationship was with Morgan. But it was worth a shot.

It seemed to do the trick. Morgan went pale at the thought. I guess Big Mike was big on the threats. "Right, well, I see you have made your point very clear, Samantha Bartowski," He shook his head and smooth his vest. Realigning his pin, Morgan continued, "Thank you for being such a good friend. But, uh…can I watch the news first?"

I looked at him.

"Right, okay," he forced a grin, clapping his hands together. "No news for me. I better go."

I smiled as he went out the door. Mission accomplished.

I flopped onto the couch and picked up the remote. Changing the channel, I went for Morgan's previous choice and watched the news. Gotta know the world around you, right?

I honestly hoped for something fun to hear about, to convince me that California wasn't the hellhole I imagined it to be. But the news wasn't particularly interesting. At least, that's what I thought at first. The news very rarely pertained to me back in Montana. Anything close would've been the weather conditions, whether or not I could go outside and ski or something. Besides that, the uses of TV weren't spectacular, and MTV could only hold my attention for so long. I didn't really watch a lot of shows nowadays.

It wasn't until it got to L.A. local news did things started to get interesting.

"_There has been little progress on the Dillinger case_," said the grim-faced Anchorman, who was only smiling a few seconds ago about some viral Internet video that involved sneezing pandas. "_No word yet on the missing yacht or photographer George Hennessey, who was kidnapped a year ago, soon after the death of actor Henry Dillinger. Police have informed they have possible leads and suspects._"

An image of a man appeared on the screen beside the Anchorman's head. It looked to be hand-drawn sketch of a man. The Anchorman continued_, _"_An image of the top suspect is provided here – if anyone sees this man, they are advised to call 1-800-246-2746 immediately. This man is armed and dangerous, and should not be dealt with. He is off around six feet in height, around a hundred and sixty pounds, and is reported to have a mole on the back of his hand. Again, if anyone sees this man, they should alert authorities at this toll-free number…_"

I couldn't hear anymore.

This wasn't real. It couldn't be.

Did I actually see a murderer in the Buy More?

The picture of the man was almost identical to the one I saw in the Buy More. There wasn't much of his face to go by, but the glasses and Yankee hat fit perfectly. The nose was the same, too. And although I didn't see any mole, I'd bet he totally had one.

But what was Yankee Hat Murderer doing in a Buy More? And in the _Kitchen Appliances_ aisle, no less.

Had I just let a murderer go free?

I didn't know what to do. I mean, never mind he was a celebrity killer, but kidnapping a photographer? And there something about the beach that made this seem worse. What could this be all about?

Swallowing, I looked at the TV screen still showing the image of the man. What was going on here?


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

**Chuck vs. **_**the Operation**_

"No!" Chuck almost yelled.

"Chuck, be reasonable," Sarah pleaded, resting her hands on top of his. He tried to pull away, reluctant to be convinced, but she kept a firm grip around his wrists. "The CIA knows what they're doing. You just have to trust them with this."

"Nope! Not happening! End of story!" He shook his head fervently, standing up in defiance.

"Sit down, Chuck." Sarah ordered, worried that he would take the blow personally. His unbridled emotions were always something she worried about whenever serious news was about to be told. It happened on a regular basis. Although, breaking up with Hannah had hit him hard and he had been acting out recently. Sarah hated it when her superiors called her out on her reliance on a man who wore his heart on his sleeve, but she had to admit that they had a point. "She's going to be all right. Besides, there's nothing you can do. This has been in motion for years – Beckman won't let you stop them now."

"I can try!" Chuck retorted, his shoulders straightening in a surge of bravery, but there was a tinge of doubt in his voice.

"No, you can't." Casey muttered as he walked by, polishing an AK-47.

Chuck watched him pass and swallowed, eyeing the gun. "Thinly veiled threat noted."

"It's not a fight you can win," Sarah told him in a soft tone. Chuck could be reached if she wasn't too hard on him, most of the time. This was hardly the occasion to shove him around and knock some sense into him, about an operation that didn't affect him as much as usual. And there really wasn't anything he could do about it, anyways. "Sam's going to be a spy, whether you like it or not."

Chuck was about to demand something else, but she interrupted him, second guessing what he was going to say. "Chuck, there's no reason to get upset about this. We have eyes and ears on her at all times, so she'll be completely safe."

When she first met Chuck Bartowski, Sarah was jarred by the man's skewed priorities, putting other lives before the success of the mission, but she quickly learned that he held a compassion for life that not many other spies had. It was something Sarah had come to appreciate from him, among other things.

Chuck stared at her, bewildered, "Safe? From _what_?"

Sarah pursed her lips. She had to speak with utmost care. Chuck was overreacting again, and the line between conveying information and not freaking him out was a treacherous one. "You never know. It's just safety precautions. She's still a minor."

"But apparently old enough to become a spy."

"We've have official leniency for Sam – any action of hers will be the full responsibility of her handlers. In other words, us."

"Like you, Chuck," Sergeant Casey growled, squinting into the crosshairs on the AK-47. "We've got a file cabinet filled with all your leniency claims. Do you know what it's like to fill out a form for every dumbass move you make?"

"No wonder you're so grumpy all the time," Chuck shot back, and looked away before Casey could throw him a one of his terrifying looks. "But that's not the point. The _point _is, she's barely old enough to drive a car, but she'll be getting shot at by sniper and chased by scary guys in black helicopters! She's not ready for this!"

"Why do you think we're taking precautionary measures?" Casey snapped. "If she's anything like you, we'll have to a hire our own Secret Service just to make sure she's safe."

"She doesn't even know about me and us and the CIA…" Chuck's voice drifted as he glanced down at the laptop on the table. "But why her, of all people? I mean, she's not even that big! Kind of on the short side of the Bartowski clan, you know?"

"Size doesn't matter. She's special. Unique. She's all part of the plan. Sam is critical to the operation. The both of them are."

Chuck just stared at him. "Operation?"

"The thing is, Chuck," Sarah said, looking up at him, almost regretting her slip of the tongue. She decided it didn't matter. Chuck would find out sooner or later, and it was best if it came from someone he trusted. "Sam's not a normal girl –"

"No." Chuck said firmly. "No. You're not turning my younger cousin into a spy of the CIA. Devon already knows about it and Ellie and Morgan and getting kind of close – nobody else needs to get involved in this!"

"She's entirely capable of being one," said a voice, and all three agents looked up to see Special Agent Shaw walking down the stairs, hand gliding down the railing as he eyed the Intersect-gifted man. "If you can become a spy, Chuck, so can she."

"But she's a _teenager_," Chuck pleaded, on the verge of dropping to his knees and begging for mercy. There were times he couldn't believe that some average guy like him would end up in a world like this, but by now he had accepted it. He was an adult (and going nowhere in life). Sam was not. "Teenagers aren't meant to be spies! They're supposed go to school, hang out with friends, ignore the rules and TP peoples lawns! Saving the world from international bad guys is not something she should be doing!"

"But what if she _wants_ to be one?" Shaw asked.

But Chuck wouldn't have it. He wouldn't even _process_ the possibility of Sam, who was kind of annoying, being stupidly excited over something she wouldn't understand. Spy life was _nothing_ like it was in the movies. Chuck learned that the hard way. "I'm not letting you turn her into a spy."

Suddenly, the screen in the room blinked on, displaying an austere woman with badges on her chest and hair tied in a strict bun. "You're not in the position to be making such statements, Bartowski."

"Oh, you too?" Chuck scowled. Had she been listening to their argument this entire time? He shouldn't have been surprised, but felt violated nonetheless. "Come on! Since when does the CIA hire kids to do their dirty work?"

"We've done it several times before," she informed him, her gaze hardening upon his insubordinate behavior. "A person like Sam would be invaluable to our team. You can take any professional's word on it."

"Yeah, well, tell them to shove it." Chuck was in no mood to compromise. And he met a lot of so-called 'professionals' who were total jerks, thus earning no respect from him. "I don't care _what_ a professional says; Sam is not getting involved with the CIA."

"That is not your decision to make, Agent Bartowski," General Beckham replied, gazing at him evenly, then pressed a button and the screen went blank.

Chuck glared at his company, all of whom had teamed up against him in this debate. He was disappointed that not even Sarah could see the merits of his argument. "I can't believe you guys are doing this. Are you, like, completely devoid of human emotions?"

"Emotions make spies weak, Chuck," Shaw said, not even looking at him as he analyzed a graph on one of the computer screens around the room. He wasn't even going to grace Chuck with a disapproving look. "You of all people should know that."

"Yeah, but I wasn't the one who wanted to become a spy in the first place." Chuck snapped.

Then, without a good bye, Chuck stormed out of the room.

Out of all the spies he met (the good ones, at least), Chuck disliked Shaw the most. Even Casey, who was married to the job, knew that there was a line they shouldn't cross. Shaw only saw civilian people as bullet fodder, and so long as there isn't mass genocide, a couple innocent deaths wouldn't bother him at all. No respect for anyone who wasn't a spy.

"Nice going, Shaw," Sarah scowled, unimpressed and a little irritated. Somehow, Shaw just made everything worse whenever Chuck was concerned. "Now he's never going to give up."

Shaw sighed, closing his eyes and grimacing. He was still facing the computer and hadn't looked up when Chuck left. "And I wasn't done explaining to him what we were going to do."

Sarah was about to volunteer, since she figured she could convince Chuck easier than Shaw, but he was already up the stairs after Chuck before she could even open her mouth.

"Chuck!" Shaw called to the man just as he was about to leave Orange-Orange. He pulled a wad of note paper out of his pocket, waving it in the air to get Chuck's attention. He knew that new spies had an insatiable curiosity about things they didn't know. "Wait!

The Intersect turned and gave Shaw a dirty look. "If you aren't going to tell me what the piece of paper is about, I don't want to know."

"Okay, fine, if that's how you want it. Her mother packed her a duffle bag full of tools and gadgets." Shaw explained before Chuck could walk out and ignore him. This was a task he had to complete, even though he had bigger fish to fry. It got the desired effect of stopping the Intersect in his tracks and turn to him. "She doesn't know it, but most of them are secret weapons. Remain especially careful of the baseball bat and the bug spray if I were you. The can shoots powerful tranquilizers that can knock out a horse."

"And the bat?"

"It's titanium."

Immediately, Chuck turned deathly pale. His brow scrunched up incredulously. He opened his mouth to say something, but only managed to gawk like a fish out of water. Apparently, arming a young girl with a formidable defense was beyond him.

"But I don't think you could get her angry enough to start swinging stuff at you."

"How do you know?" Chuck demanded. Sam had seemed pretty normal (if ill-tempered) so far, but he was afraid that Shaw might have a point. What would it take to send Sam over the edge, to get her to fight? "Why didn't you steal the freaking bat or bug spray instead?"

"_Because_," Shaw said through clenched teeth, his patience running thin. Did he _ever_ understand the point of being a spy, the dangers that entail the job description? One way or another, the girl was going to get herself into trouble. It seemed to be a family tradition. "She's going to need them. All of them. If she's going to survive."

"Survive _what_?"

Shaw laughed a joyless laugh. "Just wait and see, Chuck. You'll be surprised."

"I'm not sure I want to be."

Shaw paused, thinking something over as he put the note back in his pocket. Despite all the problems Chuck brought to the team, there was something about him that left the agent confused. Perhaps it was the reason why he thought Chuck could _never_ be a spy, that even a teenager with even worse perspective of reality than him could do a better job.

"Chuck, why do you care so much?"

"Because she's family." Chuck said in a low voice. There were very few occasions when his teammates seemed to understand that. "Aunt Clary wanted me to protect her, and that's exactly what I'm going to do, even if I have to be humiliated at every turn and deal with her, in my opinion, incredibly sarcastic and ungrateful nature."

That got a smirk out of Shaw. He jumped forward just as Bartowski started to leave, who had assumed incorrectly that this conversation was over. Shaw knew he hadn't convinced Chuck that going through with the operation was a good thing, which he shouldn't try to stop it. Shaw attempted to appeal to Chuck's emotional side, the part of him that he just exposed for Shaw to exploit as he needed.

"Wait, before you go," Shaw took hold of Chuck's arm. "Didn't you wonder why Clarisse sent Samantha to you and not directly to Langley?"

"Because Sam hates this place, even though she doesn't think we know?"

Shaw wasn't amused. "No, Chuck. It's because she knew, of all people, _you'd_ protect her the best."

Chuck was silent for a moment, thinking. After a moment of contemplation, he looked up and said, "What do I do?"


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

**Sam vs. **_**the French Fries**_

When Chuck finally returned roughly an hour before dinner, Morgan was exasperated and ready to talk. I watched from the hallway, entertained.

"Chuck," he said seriously, motioning to the living room. "We need to talk. Please, sit down."

"Uh, about what?" Chuck asked nervously (and slightly confused), sitting down on his own couch.

"You know how you're always running off?" Morgan asked, placing his hands together and acting a lot like a troubled spouse, but didn't wait for an answer. "And how you've always been so distracted and a little off-kilter lately, and how I've been always covering your butt?

Well, I think it's time you repaid me in some way. I don't mean to sound selfish, but I do feel like I'm being used that being your friend."

Chuck stared at the short man. "Oh, well, um, I'm sorry, I didn't know….W-what did you want?"

Morgan sighed, silent for a moment. "I want…Hannah."

Whoa, what?

He wants a _girl_?

(Okay, I didn't know who Hannah was, but I was still surprised).

"H-Hannah?" Charles Bartowski, the epitome of charm and the essence of Nerd Herding, choked. Why is he acting like that? I thought he and Sarah were tight! "Why her?"

"Well, you see," Morgan said, sounding strained. "I've always seen you with Sarah. I know it's an on-off thing, but you guys have some serious – and boy, do I mean _serious_ – things you need to work out. When I think you guys are totally not together, next thing I know, I see you guys making out in the parking lot. Then when you guys are back together again, you're arguing. And then your kissing and then your arguing and-and I think you get the idea, Chuck."

Chuck was speechless.

"What I'm saying is," Morgan sighed, sucking on his cheek and looking around nervously. He was clapping his hands repeatedly for emphasis, and it was starting to get annoying. "I think you need to let Hannah go. I mean, imagine what it's like for her! It's obvious she's interested in you, but it's totally unfair for you to tease her with Sarah all the time. Please, Chuck, do this for her, not for me. Please. I think it's for the best of all of us here in Burbank, California."

"Oh, um, okay, buddy," Chuck said, sounding sad and maybe a little guilty. "I didn't k-know that was what it was like for you…and Hannah…Sorry, man."

"So, you'll do it?" Morgan brightened like a light bulb connected to a mega-watt battery. The way he perked up like a little puppy made him so endearing, I couldn't believe how cute he looked.

"Yeah, sure," Chuck nodded dubiously, getting up. "Anything for my best friend."

Morgan grinned. "You're the best, Chuck."

"Yeah, sure," Chuck's voice was failing him. I wasn't sure if I felt sympathetic for Chuck's bewilderment or Morgan's previous stress, but my mind didn't dwell on it for long before I remembered my epiphany earlier that day.

As Chuck went to turn on the TV, I tried to enter the scene as casually as possible. "Hi, guys,"

Both men whirled upon my entrance, surprised to see me and not, I don't know, a fire breathing dragon. Why I say this? The wide-eyed and terrified looks on their faces were the answer to that.

But when I just stood in the hallway awkwardly, trying to not look nearly intimidating when I last threatened Morgan, they relaxed. Morgan gave me a weak smile before he darted into the kitchen.

"So, Chuck," I tried to be as smooth as possible, walking behind the couch. My fingers trailed on the edge, then I dropped down, leaning against the back and looked at him. "What's the big deal about the Dillinger Case?"

"Uh," Chuck looked at me, then away. He stared at the TV absently. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on!" I said, punching him playfully in the shoulder. He winced, and I reminded myself that he was still my cousin and I wasn't allowed to hurt him. "You're a native to L.A. You gotta know _something_!"

Chuck seemed to be choking on his own tongue. He was repeatedly glancing at the window, but whenever I looked at it, I didn't see anything. "I heard the guy got kidnapped on the dock."

"Which dock?"

Chuck gave me a weird look, and I mean _weird_. His eyes crossed and he spoke in a really fast voice, stilted as though he rehearsed it. "Dock E4 on Keller's Beach, private area, home to over a hundred stolen –" he seemed to snap out of it "– uh, I mean… _stunning_ yachts. Why is this suddenly so important to you?"

"No reason." I shrugged innocently, pretending not to be totally freaked out by what he just said. Jeez, I wasn't exactly expecting him to be so specific, but I guess it was all the better. "Just curious."

"Really?" Chuck asked skeptically. "Because I can clearly recall the several times you've complained about being here."

"What can I say? Death makes life interesting."

Chuck snorted, like there was some sort of inside joke to that, although I had no idea what that could be. "Oh, yeah, totally agree with you. Why don't you help Morgan before he sticks metal into the microwave?"

"I thought Morgan was good at the cooking stuff."

"Morgan is also good at making mistakes," Chuck raised his eyebrows, giving me a significant look. "Stop him before he makes another one."

I stood up and saluted Chuck, then rushed upstairs to my room. Screw that. If Morgan burned down the house, then all the more reason for me to get out of here.

Then again, that Dillinger case sounded very enticing. I promised myself to call the cops in the morning, and show them the security footage of Yankee Cap Murderer in the Buy More. How I was going to access them was another matter altogether. Maybe I could threaten Morgan…

Rushing back into my room, I sat at my desk, opened my laptop screen, and turned it on. The little jingle it made as it rebooted made my heart sing. It was almost as great as being smiled at by a particular cute boy.

Oh, my gosh! What if he came to the Buy More tomorrow, and I wasn't there! I _had_ to go. What would he think if I didn't show up?

Whoa, hold your horses. Breathe.

I _cannot_ look desperate. I had to think of a strategy, something that will make me look interested (ahem) but not totally and completely falling head over heels for him (even though I'm really not). Maybe tomorrow, but the next day I shouldn't. Three days would be pushing my luck. I mean, Mom already said not to talk to boys (or go within three continents of one), and what if Chuck was giving her updates on my current lifestyle? I _couldn't_ let her find out about this.

When the logical side of my brain finally acknowledged my thoughts, I almost laughed at myself. I was acting crazy over a single boy I had just met. It wasn't like I knew him that well, and I was already thinking up plans like these so I didn't look like a complete dork. I was _being_ a dork for even thinking of thinking about plans. I shouldn't even be doing this at all. What if he turned out to be an absolute jerk, who put on the nice-guy act just to trick me? This was _so_ not something I should be taking a chance on.

But I _wanted_ to take the chance. I totally did. I mean, what's the worst that could happen? Broken hearts, bah. I've seen enough of those on TV to last me a lifetime. I'll get over it, even if I have to dump his bike off a cliff if the need arose.

I thought about the James Bond persona he gave himself. Okay, I admit it, I thought that was cool, but what if he was a ladies' man? Someone who dated three girlfriends all at once and not letting any one of them know? Besides, it's not like any of the relationships in the movies ever turned out okay (and the names were totally bogus, but whatever).

Jeez, me going crazy over a boy? I think Lester might have toyed with my brain.

My computer dinged as a box popped up on the screen. What's this?

MESSAGES FROM 'MOM'

Should I be surprised? No.

Opening the server, I was expecting to see some concerned letter about how my mother was deathly afraid that I might accidentally step in front of an oncoming steam engine or fall off a waterfall with sharp, pointy rocks on the bottom, and that was exactly what I got.

_Stay away from any boys! And don't drive without your seatbelt on! And wear a helmet when you ride your bike! Don't go anywhere unless Charles or Eleanor are with you, I don't want you going around alone in California!_

_Best wishes, Mom_

I found it amusing that she had put an exclamation point after each sentence. But jeez, my mother was a total worrywart. She really needs to loosen up a little bit. It's rather insulting to have a mother who is absolutely convinced you have no sense of common sense whatsoever. Seriously, if I could handle the Buy More, I could handle anything.

Well, except boys – but that's a different matter.

I heard footsteps and looked around as Morgan walked in. "What's up?"

He gave me a look I couldn't decipher. "Do you think Chuck will give up Hannah?"

It was weird for adults to ask _me_ for advice, but I shrugged and tried my best. "I don't know who Hannah is, but I think Chuck's an honest guy. I don't think he'd go back on his word."

Morgan nodded, looking slightly less uncomfortable now, "Do you think she'll go out with me?"

"She's part of the Nerd Herd, right?" I felt that is was a safe guess to assume that.

Morgan nodded.

"Well, better you than Lester or Jeff or any of those other weirdos."

Morgan laughed, then puffed out his small chest. "Yeah, I suppose. No woman can resist the charm and mystery of the Morgan."

I smirked and shook my head to myself as he walked away. And they say _teenagers_ are overconfident.

After checking my email (which didn't have much use since I had no friends to speak of), I closed the laptop and burned the exact location of my laptop into my brain before I left the room.

In the kitchen, Morgan was cooking dinner again (I was secretly glad he wasn't reverting to his rather nasty-looking sandwiches). By the smell of it, I decided it had to be Mexican. Great! Mexican was my favorite.

Chuck was away at work on his own laptop on the couch, his back facing me. I was about to peek over his shoulder to see what he was doing, but he abruptly closed the top before I had a chance to glimpse anything. Scowling, I backed away quickly so I didn't look too nosey or suspicious.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing," I said, playing the sweet, innocent act my mom taught me. "What were you doing?"

"Eh," he shrugged nonchalantly. "Nothing much. Just work."

I couldn't tell if he was lying or not (not that I thought he _was_, I'm just saying), but then I replied, "I thought you had to go to people's houses or something like that. Like the Geek Squad or something."

He chuckled nervously (which kinda unnerved me because it sounded more than a little strange), "Well, we do that, too. We can also work on their computers from ours. Like connecting their printers and stuff like that…"

Chuck seemed extremely uncomfortable (okay, I lied. _Now_ I wondered if he was shamming or not), but I dropped it. Chuck was as stubborn as I was, and I doubted I could get him to talk. (Maybe he was talking to Hannah? I mean, it was possible, considering Morgan's abruptness.)

"Smells good, Morgan." Chuck said, maybe a little too brightly. "But…that looks like a lot for three people."

I examined the amount of edible goodness Morgan was preparing and was as bewildered as Chuck was. It was quite a voluminous quantity. Even if the chef had split it up into thirds, I doubt my stomach could fit that much food.

"Oh, that's because I invited some people." Morgan said cheerfully.

"Who?" Chuck and I asked in unison. We exchanged worried glances.

"Hannah," he made a goofy smile (do boys like him always have that stupid look around a girl – then I remembered how my face must've looked when I was around Alex, and told myself to shut up.) "And Lester. And Jeff."

"_What_?" I gasped, and was surprised again that my voice was joined by Chuck's saying the exact same thing.

Chuck was stuttering. "W-what? Why?"

"Well, you know, I felt that it was time to make it obvious that I was available and you guys weren't…" Morgan said, his voice trembling slightly at his own boldness. "I think it's a good idea."

"Yeah," I said sarcastically, trying hard not to sound hysteric. "Because Lester trying to _kill_ me is great!"

"Relax." Morgan said easily, which made me even more irritated and scared. "They won't do anything with Chuck around."

I was about to say something to that, but then I realized that he had a point. The two idiots wouldn't dare cross Chuck to get to me. Then again, logic reminded me, I wasn't attached to Chuck at the hip. There was going to be a point this evening when I wasn't going to be near him and they'll make their move.

"Yeah, well I'm not always going to be _around_ Chuck," I tried to hammer some sense into the short Nerd Herder. "And they aren't entirely stupid either. I'll bet they'll come up with some plan to get back at me!"

"What could you possibly have done to make them so angry?"

"Existing," I said under my breath, then told him, "Well, if you didn't already know, I threw Lester into the CD racks and knocked them all over. I guess it would be a _little_ aggravating to pick them up and set them back to order."

Morgan and Chuck stared at me. "You did that? No wonder they're angry!"

I scowled at the fact that they totally didn't understand. "They were asking for it!" I cried indignantly. "They handed me a mop and actually expected me to clean up someone's puke!"

Okay, I didn't know if it really was puke, but what else needed a mop to be cleaned up in an electronics store?

Morgan wrinkled his nose. "Well, do your Kung Fu thing again."

Yeah, I was thinking of that. But after the first two times, I wasn't entirely sure they'd get the message if I kept whupping butt. I mean, they definitely had a sinister side, but were dumb as a bucket of rocks.

"It's _Karate_, genius," I rolled my eyes. "What makes you think its Kung Fu?"

"Chuck knows Kung Fu," he said simply.

I stared at my lanky, clumsy cousin in bewilderment. "Seriously?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"You _guess_?" I asked skeptically. "Well, either you do or you don't. Which is it?"

Chuck was struggling for an answer, but Morgan saved him. "He decked Lester and Jeff with a couple of moves in the Buy More once. I swear, he was like a freaking ninja."

I was going to input the fact that ninjas probably didn't use Kung Fu (I'm pretty sure it's Ninjutsu), but then I realized the conversation had strayed from the topic at hand. "Look, I don't care. But I swear, if they try anything, it's going to be on _your_ conscience!" I pointed threateningly at Morgan, who had gone two shades paler. "And I'm not kidding, either."

Infuriated, I stomped out of the room. Boy, if only…

I had half a mind to slam my door, but decided against it. Among other things, immature wasn't what I wanted to come off as. I mean, I was naturally immature as a teenager (ahem), but I didn't need to overdo it.

Slumping onto my bed, I closed my eyes, just wanting to disappear. This was _so_ not my day.

I think I dozed off, because my dreams were seriously whacked. I was in some sort of library with books that were covered in razor wire or complicated locks or superglue, shelves that rose so high I couldn't see the top, a ceiling that was made up of nothing but utter blackness, and a bright pink moon that hung right above my head and shone light only six feet ahead. I didn't know why, but for some reason I knew I was serious danger. My heart beat too hard and my breathing coming out too harsh, like I had been running for miles.

But I wasn't moving, so I had no idea what made me so excited. I tried moving, but my feet wouldn't work right. They were literally sinking into the ground, and I couldn't pull myself out.

My heart started to beat faster, and I knew that whatever danger was after me was getting seriously close.

In my dream, I tried to second guess what it could be. I looked up and around, expecting to see an atom bomb descending or a dinosaur about to attack, or maybe a bull dozer barreling towards me at a hundred miles an hour. Something fast, huge, scary – something I couldn't run away from. But nothing appeared, and my heart beat only faster.

I was going crazy with fear. What was after me? Where was it? How was I going to fight it off? What's with all the books? Why can't the moon shine a little brighter?

Suddenly, something touched my neck. I was slow to react, confused about what was going on. The thing around my neck wrapped around my trachea on got tighter. I gasped as I recognized the feeling of warm, rough fingers around my neck, and I stared in horror as wrists and arms and shoulders formed. I wanted to fight real bad, but my arms hung limply at my side. I had forgotten how to use them. What were they for again?

A head completed the body formed in front of me. I knew who it was before it even formed, yet I was completely shocked when I saw the face of the Yankee Cap Murderer leering down at me, sneering with glee as he choked the life out of me.

I was powerless as I felt the world fade. The shelves dissolved and the books fell without their support. Soon, it was just me, choking, dying, with the man's face looming above me, surrounded in black clouds. His mouth opened, more than humanly possible, so his jaw left my field of vision. I expected him to say something terrifying, or scream so high my eardrums broke.

But instead, the man laughed. Laughed and laughed and laughed.

The face zoomed down on me, and I felt the last bit of my life force blink out.

I gasped, falling out of bed in a bundled heap. I was trapped within the confines of my comforter, and it took a good two minutes before I found an opening and stuck my head out, sucking in fresh air.

I flopped down on the floor, exhausted. At first, I wasn't sure what had happened. For a moment there, I thought I had seriously died in my dream. The choking sensation felt so real, I wondered what I did. Was I sleeping wrong? Was the pillow on my face, or the blanket wrapped around my throat? I couldn't be sure, since I wasn't even in the same spot I was sleeping before.

When I opened my eyes again, my clock told me that thirty minutes had passed. As if to make me feel worse, I heard the slamming of car doors.

I shot straight up and rushed to my window.

I saw an unfamiliar car and an unfamiliar woman leave it. She was dressed nicely (an evening dress that was plain enough to go to your coworker's house) and her hair was shiny and her make-up well done. Instantly, I felt a twinge of jealously. I've experimented and practiced with my hair before (and multiple times too), but never could I get it to look so nice. My hair, unfortunately, refused to shine no matter if I straightened it or curled it or piled three pounds of conditioner into it.

And not only that, she wore enough make-up to make her look like an actress, but not so much that she looked desperate. Not that she _was_, anyways (with so many boys after her, I highly doubted it).

I wished I had good looks – my mom definitely had them. Smooth, silky hair; flawless tanned skin (I don't know how she does it in Montana, but it didn't look fake); piano-perfect fingers and hands; totally fit and healthy body (well, I had that too, but that was from a lot of exercise and skills learned from Dad's trips – Mom was usually on the treadmill every once in a while, but other than that, I rarely saw her exercise. I think it was a high metabolism.) She said I'd eventually get that too, but I didn't believe her. My acne had toned down a little, but puberty was still at work – I was totally not model-material yet, unlike how she was.

But I digress.

As she entered the house, I heard a nervous giggle as Morgan greeted her at the door (no doubt trying to be a gentleman). Soon after the door closed, another car came around and Lester and Jeff came out. Almost immediately their eyes locked down on mine behind my window. They scowled. I retreated into the depths of the room, locking my door.

I heard them enter and muffled words being shared. I waited on my bed, my hands clasped so tightly in my lap my knuckles were white, for what felt like an eternity. The idea of whether I should change for the dinner didn't even cross my mind. And after five excruciating minutes, a knock came on my door.

I jumped, although I shouldn't have been surprised. It was what I had been anxiously waiting for, anyway. Opening it, Lester stood in the doorway; giving me such a hard glare that I was amazed I hadn't turned to ashes yet.

"Dinner…" he said, his voice rasping menacingly, and flourished down the hallway to the dining room. "Is ready."

"Thanks." I said shortly.

Making sure he went down the hall first, I followed. The other two guests were already situated and Chuck was dressed as a waiter (I gulped down a spasmodic giggle at the sight of him), and was asking for their orders with exaggerated politeness and charm.

Jeff was totally hitting on Hannah (even though she was twenty years younger and the whole thing made me want to retch) and Lester was giving her a look that he was into her, too. Well, she's a lucky lady. I could definitely tell that Chuck was trying hard to hide the sadness that came from losing her as a soul mate, and Morgan was downright wriggling with excitement in the kitchen. Out of the four men, I prayed to whichever deity would listen that she would choose either Morgan or Chuck – preferably Morgan, since Chuck had already pledged to stay away from her.

"So, for the lovely ladies," Chuck grinned broadly at Hannah and gave me a strained smile, "What we have…tacos, tacos, and…tacos. What will it be?"

Hannah giggled and I couldn't help but smile. "Tacos. But if the all-powerful and all-knowing chef ever gets colorful, tell him I want chips and guacamole, too."

"I'll remind him," Chuck said, giving me a mordant look to tell me that my wit and sarcasm had not gone unnoticed. "And for you, Miss Hannah?"

She grinned at him with such amazing attention that I had a feeling she didn't know that Chuck was no longer available. "Tacos, please. What else?"

"Me." Jeff said as seductively as he could (which wasn't seductive at all – just really, _really_ creepy and gross), wriggling his eyebrows and trying to look cool and all that.

Hannah turned to him for a second and gave him a short laugh (probably not to insult or embarrass him – I would've totally decked him there and then if he ever did that to me). "Oh, you're so funny, Jeff."

I couldn't tell if she meant it or was faking, but I wasn't impressed. The look in her eyes told me she was a little weirded out too, but was too nice and polite to tell him so. I had to admit, if she was ever surprised that the two idiots kept going after her, she brought it on herself. If Hannah had made it clear from the start that she wasn't at all impressed by their efforts, they would have stopped a long while ago.

Chuck walked away with the "orders" and Hannah turned to me, displaying a friendly smile. "You must be Chuck's cousin, Sam. I'm Hannah. Nice to meet you." She held out her hand from across the table.

I grinned, glad she used the preferred version of my name. I shook her hand, liking her already. "Nice to meet you, too."

"Chuck's told me so much about you," Hannah almost sounded envious, but still gave me a genuine smile.

_I bet he did_. For a second, my smile tightened. For some reason, I had a feeling that not all of the things Chuck's told about me were good. "Yeah, I've heard of you, too. So, you're a computer genius or something?"

It was a guess, but considering she was part of the Nerd Herd, I felt that it was a good one.

She blushed. "Chuck and Morgan say so, but I think their just being nice. It's not like I've ever hacked into the Pentagon or anything."

I heard someone make a strangled sound behind me in the kitchen and something clatter to the floor. We turned around to see Chuck's head pop up behind the counter. He held up a metal spatula, looking a little green. "Sorry, dropped this. Just…pretend I don't…um… exist and continue with, um, your little chat. Please."

Our attention immediately returned to the conversation at hand. "So," Hannah continued. "What did you think of the Buy More?"

I glanced at Lester and Jeff, who looked murderous. "It was cool, I guess. I mean, I'm not a major computer wiz, but it was…enlightening." I threw them a hard look.

"Oh," Hannah remained unaware of the rivalry between the two idiots and I. "Was it odd when people came to you at the Nerd Herd desk?"

I snorted. "Yeah. Especially when I don't even _look_ like a Nerd Herder."

Out of the corner of my eye (they were focused on Hannah at the present moment), I saw Lester make signs with his hands, and mouthing the words, "I will kill you."

Then just at that moment, Chuck came in with the appetizers balanced precariously on his arms. With extreme care, he set down four individual bowls of fries (yeah, because fries are very Mexican – _not_) and chips, which smelled totally delicious, and then two larger bowls of guacamole and salsa. He set down a bottle of Heinz ketchup to accompany the fries.

Lester, being the amazing gentleman he was, split up the fries, passing the bowl first to Hannah (who smiled a thanks), then to Jeff. To my utmost disgust, after Jeff was done, he spit in the bowl of fries. Lester took some out that weren't contaminated by Jeff's oral fluid and then passed the bowl to me, right after he spat into the other half of the bowl.

I couldn't believe it. How could neither Hannah nor Chuck notice this?

However, I had a perfectly good reason to refuse them. "No, thanks. I'm allergic."

Hannah stared at me in surprise and Chuck stumbled inelegantly on his way back to the kitchen, but both Jeff and Lester were completely unconvinced.

"You can't be allergic to fries," Jeff scoffed, sounding annoyingly arrogant and omniscient. "No one's allergic to fries."

"Not _fries_, you idiot," I snapped. "I'm allergic to the peanut oil _in_ the fries."

"Oh, yeah," Lester said, still not believing me. "Since when?"

"Since _birth_," I glared at him.

The sneer on Lester's face faltered, and Hannah was horrified. "Oh, my gosh, I'm so sorry! It must be horrible to not eat certain things."

I shrugged my shoulders, not as bothered about it as she was. "It's no big deal. Besides, most fries with peanut oil in them are from fast food restaurants, and I heard they're pretty fattening, so I don't think I'm missing out on much."

At the "fattening" part, I shot a pointed death glare at Jeff, who was definitely sporting a classic middle-aged beer-belly.

Secretly, I was glad about my excuse, glad that I had a peanut allergy (which was kind of weird, when you think about it). For once, I didn't have to lie and not suffer the consequences of it.

Hannah temporarily departed the table to go the bathroom. With her gone and Chuck in the kitchen, Lester rounded on me.

"_Peanut allergy_?" he demanded angrily. "You don't have a peanut allergy! You're just fibbing!"

"Uh, _no_, I'm not," I said, dead serious.

"So? Big deal?" he scoffed, apparently thinking that it wasn't a big deal. "What's the worse that could happen anyway? A rash? Pimples? A fat tongue?"

I glared at him, hatred broiling inside me like the fries in peanut oil. "I could _die_. If I ate anything related to nuts, I could go into anaphylactic shock and my airways would contract and I'd choke to death, okay? Is that good enough for you? Or do I need to show you the medical documents to prove it?"

"Oh." for once, I stunned them both into silence.

Grimly satisfied, I ate the chips and salsa instead.

Hannah returned, and my previous anger disappeared so she wouldn't suspect anything. "Welcome back."

"Thanks," She said, then gave me a look I couldn't quite decipher. "So, the Buy More. At the Nerd Herd desk. I saw a rather…" she paused for a moment, searching the word, "_attractive_ boy walk up to you."

Right at the moment when "attractive" and "boy" were put together in the same sentence, I blushed so furiously that I would've put a stoplight to shame.

"Uh," I mumbled, imagining how intelligent I sounded. "Yeah. Him."

"What did you think of him?" a playful smile was on her face. "He looked good for his age." She added, clearly hinting at the _boy's_ and my obvious teenage similarity.

"He was…" I paused, not really sure I wanted to continue that sentence. "Nice."

"Did you think he was cute?" she persisted.

Apparently, the obvious rise in temperature in my cheeks told me that I had blushed even more so. That was enough to answer Hannah's question.

"I knew it," she grinned. "I think you two would look cute together, you know. Maybe he'll…I don't know…ask you out?"

I wanted to _die_. Not only did I really want that to happen, but I was totally mortified that I wasn't the only one who thought so. What if Chuck found out?

"Does Chuck know?" she lowered her voice almost to a whisper.

This was one question I didn't want to lie about. If I said "yes" she might question Chuck about it. Slowly, I shook my head.

She gave me a sympathetic, knowing look. "Don't worry; your secret is safe with me."

I felt my fingers clench under the table. At the idea that it was a secret, I immediately felt insecure. Secrets usually scared me to a point that it became obvious I was hiding one.

But knowing that Hannah knew, and wasn't going to tell, I relaxed.

Then she added, "You know, he left the Buy More a few minutes after you did," She paused. "Alone. Did he catch up with you?"

I wasn't sure I wanted to tell her _that_. I didn't want her to think that…well; I didn't know what I didn't want her to think. However, feeling that I hadn't lied the first time, I didn't think lying _now_ was going to help.

I nodded, my throat tightening with worry about how she would respond.

"Oh, that's so sweet!" she gushed. "What was he like? Was he Mr. Joe Cool or did he lay on the flattery? Or maybe he was all James Bond and a total charmer?"

Funny she should mention James Bond, because that was exactly how he introduced himself. But he was totally calm and seemed pretty normal to me. "Mr. Joe Cool, I guess. He was nice, but he didn't, um, flirt or anything."

At least, I didn't _think_ it was flirting, although my stomach had felt like it was digesting butterflies the whole while talking to him (both in the Buy More and on bike).

I don't think I told Hannah the James Bond thing because…well, it felt like _our_ thing. Something that should stay between me and Alex. It definitely sounded like a developing nickname, but I didn't want her to let on.

"I thought it was sweet of him to chase after you on his bike," Hannah smiled dreamily as if it were some sort of fairy tale. "He is _so_ into you, Sam."

I almost wanted to deny it. But then I thought, why not? Isn't him liking me a good thing?

My mouth quirked in an awkward smile. "I guess. I mean, he didn't say it right out, but he _did_ hint at being a _little bit_ interested."

Hannah smiled at me, showing perfect teeth. "Only a little bit? Sam, any boy who goes out of his way to follow you – _just to get to know you_ – is totally into you. Maybe he even has a crush on you."

And maybe I'll win a gold medal in the Olympics. I seriously don't think Alex has a crush on me (even though my heart ached for it to be true).

"I honestly don't think he has a crush on me, Hannah," I said, a sad smile on my lips, my chin resting on my hand. "It didn't seem like it."

"Oh, come _on_, Sam," she rolled her eyes. "No boy is ever going to tell you he has a crush on you. They'd never admit it. Men are about action, not words."

"So," I made a face as I prepared to release a special piece of information I had totally planned on keeping to myself. "Asking to take me to the beach some time count as something?"

Hannah made a sound between a gasp and a squeal, and then gave me a look that made me redden again. "Sam! Of course it does! Are you kidding me? You've hit the jackpot. Next time you see him, you should ask him."

The very idea made my heart soar with joy. Hannah totally made me feel embarrassed, but she was also good at making me feel like a freaking star. I guess it helps having a fellow girl to talk to.

Then Hannah's eyes widened as if she was furious with herself. "Oh, jeez, I almost forgot to ask. What's his name?"

"Alex Rider," I said almost immediately, then asked myself if that was the brightest move I could've made. I sounded almost lovesick and totally infatuated.

"Ooo, that's a good name," her eyes glowed. "It fits him, especially being a blond. There are only so many names that could fit those kinds of people."

I almost admitted that most of the actors/characters I had crushes on when I was younger were fair-haired (Leonardo DiCaprio and Anakin Skywalker, for example). I tried not to let it bother me.

Anyways.

"Yeah," I mumbled, slightly distracted by my thoughts.

"So when do you plan to meet him again?"

Her question broke me out of my thoughts. "Oh, um…" I had almost forgotten. To be honest, we hadn't planned _anything_, really. However, I had thought about going to the Buy More tomorrow, which seemed the most logical thing to do after telling him that was where I'd probably be. "Tomorrow, I guess. It depends if he shows up or not."

"Shows up where?"

I paused, then answered with a blush, "The Buy More."

Hannah threw her head back and laughed. "That's great, Sam."

Her apparent amusement made me blush even more.

"Hey!" Lester yelled abruptly, making me jump (I totally forgot he existed). "Where's the grub?"

I had a nasty reply for that, but held it in. As I turned to the kitchen, I saw Morgan and Chuck draw away from each other, both looking like they just finished (or were interrupted during) a fight. Morgan was slightly flushed and Chuck was biting his lip. What could they possibly be arguing about? It better not be Hannah – we already went through that.

The actual dinner was brought onto the table and everyone dug in. Morgan made a point by talking to Hannah as much as he could (to the annoyance of the two idiots) and Chuck was trying to act as if it didn't bother him.

Thankfully, the topic strayed from my boy issues and my face returned to its normal color.

I don't know when, but sometime after dinner had ended, I knew things had gone horribly wrong. I think it started with Lester trying to threaten me.

I was back in my room, avoiding any carbon-based life form, when yet again another knock came on my door.

Rolling my eyes, I groaned and got up from my bed and dropping a really good book (spies and mysteries and action always livens things up), and opened the door.

Much to my annoyance, Lester was there. Again. And he was leering. Again. Oh, ha, I laughed at myself. Leering Lester. I should call him that more often.

"What?" I snapped.

"I heard your conversation with Hannah," he hinted.

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, well, you were also happening to be sitting across the table."

Lester scowled. "You're too technical for your own good, so shut up and let me talk."

For once, I listened to him. Leaning against the doorframe, I raised my eyebrows and motioned for him to continue with whatever he was going to talk about.

"I also heard that Chuck doesn't want you around other boys your age."

His words made me frown. It wasn't like I was totally unconcerned, but I had no idea how Chuck would react to this. Considering all this (being banned from Hannah, arguing with Morgan, having your annoying younger cousin move in with you), I didn't think he'd respond well. "Yeah, so? Chuck doesn't own me, and neither do you."

Lester seemed to be deciding whether he should pound me now or wait it out and let fate bite me in the butt. "How do you think he'd react to it? Not very…pleasantly, I think."

Okay. Problem. It was starting to freak me out, but what if Lester could read minds?

"No, probably not," I said calmly. I didn't know what I was playing at (I was _so_ egging him on), but I didn't want to look afraid and submit. "Why do you ask?"

Lester smirked. "Hey, Chuck!"

"What?" My cousin's wavy-haired head popped around the corner of the hallway.

"Come over here." Lester motioned him to come nearer. "Sam has something to tell you."

"I do?" I asked like the clueless idiot I was, caught off guard by Lester's boldness.

"What?" Chuck looked totally calm as he walked up, looking from me to Lester. "What is it?"

"Oh," I said, giving him a tight smile. "I'm sure Lester would be happy to be the mailman."

Lester glared at me, then turned to Chuck with the most depressing look on his face. "Chuck, I'm afraid I have bad news…"

The gravity of Lester's voice sounded like he was about to say beloved Grammy had died during an operation or whatever. A little creeped out, I took a step back.

Chuck, too, was alarmed. "What the heck are you talking about?"

Lester sighed. "Well, Chuck, it seems our cherished Samantha here has…fallen head over heels for a boy she met at the Buy More."

Okay, when he said that, I _might_ have reacted a little more strongly than I meant to. Well, I guess the look on both Lester's and Chuck's face (downright evil and horrified, respectively) kind of provoked my reaction…just a little.

"It's not true!" I blurted, sounding perhaps less-than-innocent. "Lester's just saying that to get back at me!"

Which was totally a good reason, if Lester wasn't telling the truth as well.

Morgan popped up beside us. "Hmm? What am I missing?"

I immediately filled him in, "Lester says I like a boy, and it's not true!" Oh, jeez, now I sounded like a whiny brat.

"Oh, going back to Second Grade, are we?" Morgan looked more amused than worried. "I know _one_ person who can handle this! Hannah!"

"What?" she, too, appeared in front of my room, and suddenly I felt much trapped.

"Okay," Morgan said. "Is it true that wonderful Sam here has a crush on a certain boy she met at the Buy More?"

Hannah was the quintessence of innocence and honesty. "Not as far as I know. I watched her the whole time, like you asked. No boy came up to her."

I wanted to hug Hannah for covering for me.

"Well, you see," Morgan grinned widely. "Problem solved. Maybe you should get a hearing check, Lester."

The four adults moved away, Lester looking absolutely mortified. Just before I closed my door again, I heard Chuck say, "Hannah, I need to talk to you for a moment. In private."

Uh-oh.

That thought was in my head before he even finished speaking. But I pushed it out of my head. He was probably just going to tell Hannah that they couldn't, I don't know, be together anymore.

I heard a door close and muffled voices talking. Well, I guess I was right.

Relieved, I lay back on my bed, trying to relax again.

But I couldn't. Somehow, my gut was telling me something was _wrong_. After a while, it was so strong it started to hurt. Getting up just to clear things up and to tell my gut to shut up (and maybe take some Tylenol), I left my room and went to the only closed door in the hallway.

Afraid of what I might see, I slowly turned the knob.

I looked inside.

And I remained there, frozen in silence.

Then Morgan appeared behind me. "What's the matter, Sam? You look like you've seen a g-g-ghost…"

His voice faded as he saw what I was staring at. The most heartbroken, betrayed look on his face told everything.

"Chuck…?" my voice cracked.

Hannah and Chuck withdrew from their embrace, in shock that they had been discovered. Their faces were flushed and their hair slightly mussed.

"Chuck…" Morgan said hoarsely. "How could you…? You promised…"

Then Morgan had disappeared. I heard the slam of the front door and revving of a car and a loud screeching as it left the apartment complex.

"Morgan!" Chuck called after him. "Wait! It's not what you think!"

But Morgan by then was probably already half way across California. I stared at the two of them in disbelief.

"Chuck," I looked at him, now more exasperated than shocked. "What the hell is wrong with you? Are you, like, brain-dead? What did you _think_ he was going to think? That kissing was okay even though he totally had a crush on Hannah and you didn't have enough restraint to give respect to your agreement?"

I shook me head, unable to speak any more. This was beyond words. Leaving them there, in a state of embarrassment and regret, I returned to my room.

Slipping into my covers, not bothering about changing into pajamas, I felt like crap. Not only did I feel horrible for Morgan, but I wondered how tomorrow would be like in the result of this?


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

**Sam vs. **_**the Sunglasses**_

The mood of the household was dour when I woke up. Both Morgan and Chuck were in the kitchen, avoiding each other's eyes. I ate my cereal (yuck) in silence, watching them in case anything happened. Like, the stroke of insanity and they start slinging sharp objects at each other.

I almost wanted to say something sarcastic or rude, but I decided against it. The last thing this house needed was an every-man-for-him-or-herself kind of feud. Not that I was going to choose a side, but I'd rather not be made the enemy.

After an unbearably long breakfast, it was finally time to go to the Buy More. Unlike yesterday, I actually felt excited to go – at least I wouldn't be hanging around them for the whole time. I'll call the police, and I'll show them the security footage of the Yankee Cap Murderer. And if Alex came, all the better.

Unfortunately, once I got into the Buy More, I sensed a significant change in the atmosphere.

For one, it was unusually quiet. Usually it was loud as music played and coworkers talked and helped the customers. But no Bon Jovi rocked, and barely anyone spoke just to make harmless chitchat. It must've been one of those days with fewer customers.

I reached for the phone and quietly called the number to reach authorities (I had the number memorized by heart), and got on the Nerd Herd computer, hoping to access the video cameras. They had to in here somewhere.

As Morgan and Chuck walked around, I noticed that both of them were getting nasty looks. Apparently, sides were taken and it seemed that the Buy More had been split into two. Lester and Jeff appeared to be on Chuck's side, and many of the coworkers with green shirts were on Morgan's side (except Casey, who appeared oblivious to the whole rivalry).

I couldn't believe how fast the gossip and drama had spread. Legitimately afraid that an all-out war would erupt, I stationed myself at the Nerd Herd desk. It would be good cover for any flying cell-phones or MP3s.

Sitting there, I realized the only person absent was Hannah. To be honest, I didn't blame her for not coming to work today. I wouldn't if I worked here (or was not hoping against hope that Alex might come).

Coworkers were passing messages in whispers. Almost simultaneously, both Chuck and Morgan got them. They glared at each other.

I was watching intently as Chuck and Morgan both gave a reply to that message. What was going to happen? Were they finally going to man up and confront each other? Would they apologize? Would they make another deal –?

"_Ahem_,"

I jumped, startled out of my thoughts. "W-what?" I looked around wildly.

A policeman stood in front of me, looking down like I was some annoying creature he found in the streets, and he had no choice but to deal with it. "My name's Officer Borsch, I work for the Burbank police department. I'm aware that a certain Samantha called to report a sight of the wanted man from the news?"

His face was puffy and his voice was pompous, and I got the immediate feeling that I didn't like this guy, whether or not he was trying to help me.

"Uh, yeah," My mind blanked, and I almost forgot why I was there. "That's right."

"You know what this is about?"

"I…ah…" I struggled to think of a decent reply. Man, I sound so _stupid_! "There was this guy yesterday, really suspicious looking. He had a big coat on and a Yankees hat and sunglasses. He looked a lot like the guy on TV."

"If it happened yesterday, why didn't you alert the authorities then?" Officer Borsch asked, pursing his lips.

"I didn't know he was wanted." I shrugged helplessly. "Until that evening."

"And where did he go?" the officer asked, raising an eyebrow. "What did he do?"

"He," I blinked, trying to recall the memory. It was hard to focus on, especially since I wasn't paying a lot of attention to him at the time. "He was going through the kitchen appliances section…I think. I think he works at the beach."

"And how do you know that?" the man asked suspiciously.

My mind wasn't being very helpful. I just _remembered_ that I thought he worked at a beach, but I couldn't remember _why_ I thought that. "I…I…I had just assumed –"

"Because this man _does not_ work at a beach," Officer Borsch said, snippety. "He is a truck driver, and he's a known accomplice in the kidnapping of a photographer. Can you tell me what he bought?"

"Bought?" I blinked, startled. "I-I don't know if he bought anything. I left before he did."

"Well, no matter," Officer Borsch wrote something on his clipboard, and I winced as I recognized the motion of x-marks. "Surely the Buy More has some sort of record of their customers?"

I stared blankly at him. "I don't actually…_work_…here, sir."

The policeman raised an eyebrow. "Then…what're you doing here, behind the desk?"

I didn't know how to explain it. My cousin works here, and I just hang out. The Buy More has such a slack rule-code that they don't even notice non-employees hanging out behind their own desk? It felt like I had called the wrong number, or knocked on the wrong person's house.

Officer Borsch sighed. And then, sharply, "Did you see him do anything in the store? Did he pick up any objects? Take anything while he was browsing?"

"Uh, no," I struggled to speak. I felt like crying, I was so frustrated. "He just looked around. I didn't see him do anything else but that. He just stayed in that aisle."

"You mind if I take a look?" he asked, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. He didn't even wait for my answer when he went over and scanned the area. I watched him carefully, wondering if he'd come across anything. But the closest thing that came to interest for him was a coffeemaker, and even then it only held his attention for little more than five seconds. He moved on, and too soon, he was done.

"There doesn't appear to be anything suspicious," the officer adjusted his belt and scribbled some more on his clipboard. "Are you sure he went in that aisle?"

I hated it when people questioned my intelligence. It made me doubt myself, and it freaked me out. What if, on the off chance, I was wrong? What if this guy had nothing to do with it? Or maybe I just proved myself an idiot and provided no help at all.

"Yes," I said through gritted teeth, not looking at him. "I'm sure."

The little interrogation went on. The little stone tower I had built out of the memory was being dismantled by this local cop – one stone brick at a time. It was torture.

"Well," he said, finishing up the questions. I couldn't believe this was finally over. "You've got the number. I want you to spend this next week really _thinking_ over the event, and let's say you remember anything at all? Give me a call."

My brain was fried. I couldn't think straight. Something wasn't right here. Something in my gut was telling me this wasn't right. Everything had been thrown apart. I was _positive_ that was the man from the TV, but why would he come to the Buy More, of all places? What is so important about this place that a wanted criminal has to come around to browse kitchen appliances?

But whatever the answers were, I couldn't think of any. It was like trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle, only you had a couple pieces, missing most of the others, and had no picture or map to follow. Despite the seemingly important chips I held in my hand, none of them would do me any good if I didn't have a guide to work with.

"Hi,"

I almost didn't hear him. But when my eyes looked up, I totally tuned in especially since Alex, cute as ever, was leaning against the counter, grinning at my confusion.

"What're you doing here?" the words were out of my mouth before I could actually think of what I was saying.

"Well," he coughed lightly. "You _did_ say this was the place I could find you. And I found you."

Realizing my fault, I blushed hotter than the sun. The police interrogation had me so distracted that I almost forgot our last (and first) conversation. "Oh, sorry. I kind of forgot."

"It's okay," he smiled. "I know what –"

However, I never found out what he knew. Suddenly, a loud clatter echoed in the room, followed almost immediately by yells.

Two coworkers were arguing.

One said, "Hey, what was that for? You _trying_ to get me killed?"

"Look, I'm sorry, it was an accident –" the other tried to apologize, but the first wouldn't hear it.

"Your _face_ is going to be an accident once I'm finished with you!" Lester shouted, then found the nearest plexi-glass case and threw it at the man.

"Argh!" The man threw up his arms, the box bouncing off his limbs. "Stop it!"

"Yeah, stop it!" called one of the female workers a few aisles down, then threw a universal remote at Lester, nailing him in the eye.

"AGH!" Lester went down, his hands covering his wounded peeper. "I'm blind!"

"Um," I thought quickly. "Let's get out of here."

Alex nodded and we rushed out of there before Nerf bullets could go flying or the Revenge of the Nerds could start. I'm sorry, but that was one situation I _never_ wanted to explain to the police. The Buy More was a place where any rhyme or reason was nonexistent. Or hygiene, for that matter.

We left the Buy More on our bikes faster than you could blink. By the time we made a considerable distance away, just about the end of the block, sirens filled the air and police cars turned the corner. We tried to look innocent (well, not that we had a lot to be guilty about, but still) as they passed. We crossed the street once the line of half a dozen monochromatic cars went by.

Alex and I pedaled at a pleasant speed, not talking and not really sure where either of us were going. It started getting awkward, but thankfully, I didn't have to break the silence.

"You haven't been here long, have you?" he asked casually.

"Yeah," I shrugged. Amazing at is seemed, it felt like a whole month had passed from everything that has happened (from Lester's challenge, to meeting the family, to Alex, to Chuck's deal and betrayal, Yankee Cap and Officer Borsch, and finally the Nerd Herd fiasco that we escaped just in time) in a matter of forty eight hours. "A couple days. I'm trying to get used to things."

I wasn't sure if I ever _would_ get used to things, considering how wild it could get, but I decided it couldn't be horribly bad with Alex around.

"You miss Montana a lot?"

More than he could imagine. Sometimes I missed the solitude of me and my mom, and the hour-long trips just to see movies at the theatre. Sometimes the moments in front of the fire were the only thing I could think about. Now, in California, fire places were a thing of myth and legend. Nobody had them here. No snow, no snowmen, or sledding, or ice-skating. After living there for so long, California was a hot, sweaty armpit in comparison. What fun was this place? I only nodded, forcing down the grapefruit that had lodged in my throat.

"What about you?" I managed to choke out, barely avoiding a fire hydrant. "Do you miss…England?"

"Definitely." He confirmed fervently. "This place is so different from home. Every time I go to the beach, I'm reminded each time I'm looking out on a different ocean, half-way across the world."

The way Alex put it made me really feel for him. I mean, Montana was my favorite home (and was devoid of oceans), but I've lived in Florida for a couple months and knew what he meant.

Suddenly, bright emerald colors exploded in front of my eyes and I almost crashed my bike again. Blinking, I stared out at the large park, the grass almost a neon green from the brilliant sun shining upon it.

"Whoa," I said, staring. "I have never seen grass _that_ green before."

"Thank the gardeners who work there." He chuckled lightly and veered off the sidewalk, heading into the park grounds. Cheerfully, I followed him.

We circled the park until Alex decided a spot to rest: at the top of a small hill, overlooking a small pond and most of the park. Several trees created an alcove and sunlight beamed down brightly between the delightfully full branches.

Alex rested his bike on a tree. I placed mine near his.

My bike, by the way, was a totally decked out mountain bike (which was necessary for the ruthless landscape of Montana), had a basket behind my seat. No, it was not woven, as classy as that would have been. Instead, my mom decided I needed a sturdy, tough wooden box to hold any and all of my art supplies that I carried to take along with me on my occasional bike rides.

Back in Montana, I'd usually rest at one of the several beautiful vistas and try to recreate them on a pad of paper. They weren't masterpieces, but eventually improved over time.

I stared at my sketchbook for a while, thinking of beautiful Montana, then remembered where I was and who I was with. Turning around, I saw that Alex had already made himself comfortable against a tree and was laying back peacefully, his arms wrapped behind his head.

Smiling, maybe more to myself than for public image, I sat down by the tree next to him.

I didn't know what to do, really. Well, what to say. We met to talk, to get to know each other, right? That's why two normal people like ourselves do, right? I had to think for an agonizing twenty seconds before I blurted rather rudely, "So, what's the deal with you? Why are you here?"

Alex shrugged. "Jack's travelling abroad. Thinks UCLA will give her a wider experience and more college credits. I think it's too hot and not enough rain here."

I squinted into the distance, thinking. "My cousin went to Stanford – I think he got kicked out."

Alex chuckled. "Ouch. What for?"

"Dunno. I think he cheated on some test, and his friend gave him away. Oh, and then he slept with my cousin's girlfriend. So, yeah, I guess they haven't been talking for a while."

"Well, what does your cousin do, now?"

"Works at the Buy More," I had to smile to myself. "Has been for five years. I don't know why he hasn't tried for a better job. He's smart, but I guess he doesn't want to leave home or something."

Something else had been bugging me, what with the possibility that I might be staying for the rest of the year. I paused, then said, "Okay, I honestly have to know – do you go to school for, um, school? Because I was homeschooled for the last seven years, and I really don't know what it's going to be like if I'm hanging here during the fall."

Alex smiled and said, "Well, I don't know a lot about homeschooling, but you're surrounded by way more people. And I guess you have to deal with different attitudes of the teachers…In London, I used to go to a high school where you had to wear uniforms –" at the horrified look on my face, he added quickly, "But the schools here don't do that. It's actually kind of nice."

I relaxed. Okay, so this guy knew his stuff. And no prospects of uniforms, thank God. I'd have to cross the line then. There was _no way_ I was going to wear a uniform in stinking California.

A soft, warm wind caressed me every now and then and cheerful birds went about their business. Opening to a clean page in my book, my mind wandered as my hand meandered playfully across the page.

It was a good long while before my mind focused again and I stared at what I had created.

Unless my subconscious mind was trying to tell me something, my hand had decided to draw of its own accord and was now refining the careful outline of Alex resting against the tree. Somehow, my pencil had made several strokes of pure beauty and somehow got his face to look like absolute perfection. And his hair…oh, my gosh, I don't know how I was capable of that. My hand had drawing his hair slightly messy, as if a soft wind were tugging on it.

I almost wanted to sigh and stare at it and get lost in this picture of Alex I had forever.

Unfortunately, the sound of someone sobbing didn't allow that to happen.

When my brain registered that someone somewhere out there was unhappy, I immediately frowned. This park was a happy place, for happy people. Not for those who needed to put a downer on everyone else's day.

Looking around in confusion, I caught sight of a small figure on a bench beneath the hill. It took me a moment to recognize who it was.

"Hannah?" I whispered to myself.

Instantly curious, I crept down the hill. Alex didn't stir – he had actually fallen asleep, so I assumed he was taking a nap. As I drew nearer, Hannah noticed my presence and looked up, her face tear-stained and her make-up running.

"Hannah?" I asked again.

"Oh, hi, Sam," she sniffed. "I didn't know you were here,"

I shrugged. "Buy More was a mess. I had to get out of there. Why are you here, anyways?"

"Oh, you know what happened," she said dejectedly. "Kissing Chuck, then watching Morgan throw a fit and disappear. I made him so upset and I caused so much trouble. I hadn't even waited for Chuck to finish talking. Then I found out that he was nothing but a jerk."

She said the last few words with utter disgust. Whoa, had Chuck somehow infuriated Hannah? Why am I not surprised?

"What do you mean?"

"He said that he's been keeping stuff from me. That I don't really know him like I think I do. You know how Chuck's always gallivanting off with all these lame excuses, right?"

"Um, no." I shook my head. I had yet to become irritated with that side of Chuck.

"Well, he always pops in and out at the most inopportune times. He is such a liar! I've dated liars before, but he's so good I couldn't even tell!"

"So…" I frowned, sitting down beside her, but giving her a fair distance in case she decided to start whacking on anyone. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him to go away and keep his stupid lies to himself." She growled.

Ooo-kay. That was bad. Chuck _definitely_ screwed up.

"If you meet him again, can you kick his butt for me, please?" she asked, totally serious. "I'd do it myself, but I don't know Karate."

I smiled, glad that she had witnessed _that_ event. "I'll see what I can do."

Okay, just for the record, I _wasn't_ going to go ape-crazy on Chuck. Sorry, but that's where I drew the line on kicking butts. Family is off-limits, unless they hurt other family. So far, it hasn't happened yet.

"Thanks, Sam," she smiled a watery smile at me. "You're the best."

Yeah, because being the best requires beating up someone's ex-boyfriend who is a lying, cheating scumbag. Whatever.

"Well," she sighed, getting up. I realized she was wearing a dark trench coat made of expensive leather, which was mucho-weird since it was so hot I had decided to wear a tank top and shorts today. Underneath that, I saw a knit shirt. She was wearing pants and socks as well. "I guess I should go. I'm getting out of Burbank as fast as I can."

"Aren't you a little hot in that?" I asked, pointing at her inconvenient attire.

"Oh," she giggled nervously, wiping at the dark shadows under her eyes that I only now noticed. "I wasn't paying attention to what I was putting on when I got dressed today. A part of me thought it was still winter."

"Apparently." I said aloud, then winced. Was that rude? That was rude, wasn't it? "Well, see you, then. Whenever."

She grinned and walked away, to what was a very stylish Volvo. As soon as she zoomed off, I realized I had other company to attend to. Oops.

Racing back up the hill and giving my legs a good workout (well, it was considerably easier in comparison to the same in winter attire and ski boots up a mountain), and to my surprise (and utter disappointment) Alex was no longer there. Dang it!

I saw that he had left a note, apparently taking advantage of whatever art supplies were in my bike. The said note read:

_Sorry, urgent call. Jack is burning the house down with her overcooked pies. Got to make sure she doesn't demolish the whole neighborhood. See you later._

So Alex was the funny sort. Nice. I kind of thought he was the strong, silent type. Interesting.

But most importantly, _he said he'd see my later_! If I weren't utterly boy crazy and head over heels in love (not that I'm not _going_ to be, anyways), I would've totally fainted, because that's what you do in overly dramatic movies and shows. This had to be a sure sign that we had something going!

I collapsed in the grass, smiling like a goof. Ahh, the bliss of love. Hopefully, this isn't some soppy summer fling like in those corny romantic comedies (which aren't so bad, now that I think about it). That's not really how I imagined my first relationship to work out. I mean, how many boyfriends does a girl have before she finds _The One_? Mom never really talked to me about this kind of stuff (which was a little harder to explain than my dad not discussing it, either). I didn't have any experience, and movies weren't something to be relied on in serious matters like this. I mean, as far as I knew, Alex was a great guy. I didn't want it to…end, even though it hasn't even started. But a girl can hope, right?

Unfortunately, now that Alex was gone, my mind couldn't help but revert to what it was thinking about before. Officer Borsch, Yankee Cap, and kitchen appliances. How _the hell_ could these three things be connected?

The curiosity was killing me. I hadn't had time to look up security footage before I had up and left, and now it was a nagging thought in my head. Get to it…get to it…get to it…It just wouldn't stop bothering me. In the back of my mind, I knew something was wrong, and I knew what to do.

I picked up my back and packed my stuff. I had to get back to the Buy More and figure this out, once and for all. Maybe I'll call back, and maybe I'll prove my competence to stupid Officer Borsch.

The Buy More was in disarray, which was perfect in my situation. That meant no one would notice me slipping back into the 'Employees Only' door to get to the maintenance room. I mean, if the computer didn't have access, then the employees themselves had to.

I'm not kidding, either. The Buy More was a mess. Employees, customers, and police officers were everywhere, trying to figure out what the heck had happened. Eyewitnesses were tearful, and Nerd Herders were bashed up, bruised, and still furious. Who'd notice the plain girl in the back ground, ducking behind a door in the back of the building, away from everybody else?

Unfortunately, there was virtually nothing to find in the back halls. There was no maintenance room. Okay, yes, there was a switchbox and a giant cage, but that didn't seem very helpful (and kind of creepy).Where would these guys put their security footage? The most important information if they ever needed it to back them up in a lawsuit, or criminal investigation?

The answer dawned on me, and my heart filled with dread. Big Mike's office. Of course.

Big Mike, to say the least, scared me. Okay, so he might've received me nicely the day we met, but I don't think he'd appreciate a snooping teenager rummaging through his stuff. No, I was pretty sure that was against the rules, despite how few of them there were here, at the Buy More.

But it was a chance I had to make.

I turned around, ready to head into the lion's den, when I ran into Lester.

Lester was holding an ice pack to his right eye, and the skin around it looked severely bruised. The one eye I could see was wide in surprise. But it soon turned from that to suspicion, and perhaps a hint of glee.

"What are _you_ doing here, Miss Bartowski?" He sneered. "I hope it's not your boyfriend in that closet behind you."

"Shut up," I snapped, trying to side-step him, but he got in my way. "Are you asking to get pounded?"

Lester peered at me for a second, considering my very legit threat. "What are you doing here? This is off limits."

"I was just…" I struggled to think of something. It wasn't going to be easy to fool this guy and get him off my back. Especially when he had a point. "Uh…"

"Hey!" barked a deep voice. Lester jumped, staring in fear as John Casey approached, looking incredibly terrifying. "Get out of here, moron!"

I didn't know if he was talking to me or to Lester, but Lester was the first to run. He scampered back out the door, not looking behind him. I wondered if he had dealings with Casey before. I had to be honest, I wouldn't have been surprised.

"What're you doing down here, Bartowski?" Casey turned on me, growling.

My heart gave a jump of fear. "Uh, I was just…um…looking for a way out?"

Casey grunted, taking a second to consider my excuse. I guess it must've been okay, because he then said, "Get out before you cause more trouble."

I nodded quickly and sprinted back for the door. I had to find Big Mike's office, get in, get the tapes, and get out. I just needed some sort of proof that Yankee Cap was up to something in the Buy More. Kitchen appliances were just too random to be a coincidence!

There was a low roar in the room as the police continued their search. As they talked with one another, I ducked through aisles and behind signs, then peered through the shaded windows of Big Mike's office. From what I could tell, no one was in there.

Creeping over to the door, I tried the knob. It opened easily, which was a surprise. I had honestly expected it to be locked. Because, you know, there's some pretty sketchy people here at the Buy More.

I slipped inside and my heart almost jumped out of my throat.

There was Big Mike, snoozing on his desk like his Buy More wasn't being locked down by the local police. Had he completely not noticed the all-out nerd war that occurred just barely an hour ago?

I stood there for a second, taking deep breaths. How deep does the Big Mike sleep? To even risk it in the Buy More, he'd have to do it lightly – because you never know when someone (like Lester) might come around and try to take something. Then again, he might be able to sleep soundly because his employees were too afraid of him to do so.

I decided to risk it. How hard could it be? I was expecting it to be in one of his desk drawers, or possibly in the filing cabinet. I locked the door, just to hold off anyone who tried to come in. Of course, then I'd have no way out, but I'll think of something when I get there.

Creeping over to his desk, I slowly drew out his drawers. Some contained random stuff, like staplers and paperclips and notepads. The next one was filled with the criminal records of all his employees – some were incredibly large, and Chuck's appeared to be the only one that wasn't five pages long. But that wasn't the strangest thing I found in his desk. The top drawer on his left contain a blue phone. It had no dial, no number pad; just a name-tag that said 'MOSES'.

Okay, so this guy had some seriously divine connections. That's not strange at all.

But I found no security records, so it had to be stored somewhere else. Unless, of course, he just threw that stuff out. Then I'd have to go Dumpster diving, and I wasn't entirely sure I wanted that tape anymore.

But as I frisked the filing cabinet, I discovered one was locked, and it was heavy. Loose paraphernalia shook inside. Oh, come on! This had to be it! And it was locked!

I really, _really_ didn't want to do anything illegal. Come on, if I was going to show this tape to the police, I didn't want to have to explain how I got it! I mean, that doesn't exactly earn me brownie points, does it? I needed a clean case for them to even begin believing me.

I looked around, wondering where Big Mike kept his keys. The guy wouldn't go anywhere without them. He'd keep it close, safe, like that giant fake marlin on his wall.

I scanned the room, careful to watch the windows in case anyone came near. Boy, this wouldn't look good. Me, trying to break into private property, stealing confidential information. I winced, thinking to myself. The police _were_ going to ask where I got the tape, especially since I wasn't a Buy More employee. Should I lie to them?

That sent a feeling of unease through me. I didn't want to lie to the police just so I could prove to them I was telling the truth. How paradoxical, hypocritical is that? But, in the back of my mind, I was afraid I'd have to do just that.

I spotted the link of keys around Big Mike's neck, hanging around a lanyard. Oh, man.

The lanyard was underneath Big Mike's enormous chest, and I _so_ wasn't going to try to lift him up. I tried pulling it out, but Big Mike groaned and stirred, so I backed off. I groaned inwardly. I couldn't believe I was just about to do this.

I'd have to use my interestingly handy lock-picking skills to get into the drawer. I learned it from my one and only dad. Don't ask me why, but it sounded totally cool when I was ten-years-old and had no concept of criminal consequences.

I pulled a bobby-pin from my hair. I never used the stupid things – I just kept them there for safe-keeping. Also, less suspicious. Although, I had to admit, I never thought I'd ever need them, but hey! I guess there's a time for everything!

Even breaking the law.

I inserted the pin, tweaking around for a bit. I'm not going to tell you how I did it just because you, the reader, can probably find this kind of strange stuff on the Internet. It's an amazing place. You should check it out sometimes.

But I digress.

There was a satisfying click as the lock unlatched. Yanking the drawer, I discovered with a sense of victory as the tapes rattled inside, each in their marked boxes. Security footage – sweet!

I had started to search for it when I heard a man's voice drawing nearer. I whipped around, startled, as shadows approached. I turned around and searched more frantically for the right tape. It had to be in here somewhere!

_No!_

I couldn't believe it. It wasn't in there. Where the hell could it be? I _needed_ that thing!

The doorknob began to rattle, and I had no choice but to slam the drawer shut and look for a way out. No way was this going to look good to anyone who managed to get in. But where could I go?

I scanned the room urgently, but the only place that would get me out of here was the ventilation shaft. Above Big Mike's desk.

A sense of dread filled me, but I had no choice. Big Mike had stirred when I slammed the drawer, and he was slowly waking up. There was hammering on the door now. I had to _move_.

I scrambled onto his desk and reached up. I had to jump to reach the edge, but I managed to get the grate off. Sliding it in, I jumped again and caught the edge with my fingertips. Grasping the rim firmly, I hauled myself up and disappeared into the Buy More's ventilation system.

Slipping the grate back in place, it looked as if no one had been in there.

Peeking through the grates, I watched with a sense of smug interest as Big Mike woke with a start as his door burst down, policemen swarming in, armed and ready to fire. Big Mike was so freaked out he let out a startled cry, falling backwards in his chair. I coughed into my arm, struggling to fight down my laughter.

After a huge argument about how the door was lock and Big Mike being asleep, there came the question – was anyone else in here?

I saw Casey amongst the policemen. I think he was the one who bashed the door off its hinges (I wasn't surprised). But when the question was raised, I saw him glance at the vent above Big Mike's desk, as if he knew I was up here. I backed off, a little scared.

Did he know I was up here? That's crazy! He's just a guy in a green shirt with a particularly frightening demeanor. That didn't mean anything.

But Casey made this kind of half-smirk and shook his head, then said something to a police officer. The man shrugged. The policemen filed out of the room.

As they left, I made my way down the air shaft, trying to figure out where the stupid tape was. Who would've taken it? There was one for every day in the week, except yesterday. _Why_ would someone have taken it? Did Officer Borsch already know what was on it?

It seemed unlikely.

I came across a few more grates, but they didn't show anything interesting or hopeful. It wasn't until I got to the locker room did things start to liven up.

It seemed empty at first, so I was just about to move on when something moved inside. I paused and watched silently, eyes wide as Lester, of all people, came around, looking around as if he were watching out for followers.

I sneered in distaste. Slimy bugger.

Lester opened his locker, which contained some very inappropriate pictures of women and several stickers that screamed _JEFFSTER! _In a font that kind of belonged to AC-DC or KISS, or some other famous rock-band. I had no idea what _JEFFSTER_ was, but I figured that if Lester liked it, it couldn't be good.

His locker was not filled with much, except things I've never seen before, and hoped I never will. Lester was muttering to himself, and although I couldn't hear him, I wondered what was going on inside his slimy head. What was he thinking? Was he stealing something? Was he plotting a mastermind scheme to destroy my entire life and all credibility?

Hmm. Probably. Although the chances of it working were next to never.

Then all allusions of evil planning disappeared when I saw a black video cassette in his hand. I couldn't read the date from here, but there was no way I was letting it out of my sight. I _had_ to get close to it. I mean, come on, what if it was the one I was looking for?

While the situation could cause serious alarm, I wasn't particularly worried about how Lester would react to my sudden presence, or what he might think of as how I got inside. That guy isn't completely clueless – he'll come up with some inane theory as to how I get around. It didn't matter. I just needed that tape.

Quietly opening the grate and jumping down onto the high shelf below, I carefully moved it back into place. Slipping to the ground, I snuck up behind Lester, snickered to myself, then said as sinisterly as I could, "Boo."

Lester shrieked like a little girl. He jumped, whirled around, and almost lost his grip on the tape. I was mildly disappointed and slightly amused as he fumbled with it, bouncing it between his hands before finally managing a firm hold on the technical piece. He stared at me, wide-eyed and suspicious.

"Samantha?" he choked. "W-what – how… in here – employees –?"

"What's with the tape?" I asked as cheerfully as I could, pretending I didn't just pull off the most satisfyingly creepy move I made in my entire life.

"W-what tape?" he stuttered, feigning stupidity as he quickly hid the tape behind his back, pretending to act innocent. He was a horrible actor. "I d-don't know any t-tape."

"I don't care if you know any," I said coolly, trying to get behind him to reach the tape. Lester stumbled into the locker to avoid me. "I just want to see the tape. Is that so bad?"

"Employees Only!" Lester exclaimed, bringing the tape back out, clutching it tightly across his chest. "You shouldn't even be in here! _How_ did you get in here?"

"Door was unlocked," I lied, even though I didn't know if it was really even true or not. For all I knew, it was. "Can I have it? I only need it for a second."

"Why on seven planets do you need the tape?" Lester asked incredulously. I was surprised he hadn't gone snippy and malicious on me in a second – I guess he was too afraid of me getting ahold of whatever secret he was hiding to bait me into getting it. "It's just security footage."

"Why do _you_ need it?" I demanded, advancing. Lester kept stepping back until I had him cornered against the wall. It felt oddly thrilling to have some sort of power of him. "You're just a Nerd Herder."

"Well, I have some very important…stuff in here, and you're not allowed to see it."

"Mind telling me what's so 'important' on that tape?" I asked innocently. "It doesn't have anything to do with me, does it? Because I can be very persuasive if I want to."

I don't know what did it, but Lester cracked. He looked like he was about to pee his pants. "Okay, okay! I was going to use it to blackmail you! The stupid boy was on here, so I was going to make you do…"

"Do what?" I queried, feeling incredibly good about myself. I realized I had pinned Lester against the wall, not so much physically as with my gaze. I was giving him one of my infamous Looks that could get anyone to do what I want. I hadn't been using it so much lately, mostly because Mom was usually impervious. It was effective on Dad, but…well…you know. "Do whatever you want? Something seriously embarrassing? Do your overtime?"

Lester fidgeted nervously. He looked around wildly, but I guess he didn't find the answer he was looking for. Thankfully, he cracked and held out the tape to me, squeezing his eyes shut in panic. "Here! Take it! Just don't hurt me!"

I smiled and plucked the tape from his fingers. "Why, thank you, Lester. How kind of you."

"Just _go_!"

"Okey-dokey."

I left before Lester could take it back. While he was still trembling in the corner, eyes closed, I snuck behind the storage shelves and pulled myself back into the air vent. If anything, he wouldn't know how I got in…or out.

I got out of the building as fast as possible. I didn't end up in the main store like I would have preferred, but instead ended up in the back lot, where almost a dozen Nerd Herd buggies sat quietly. It was so serene here, it was hard to believe this was still the Buy More. No one was around and I made the perfect escape.

Using my bike as the most gas-efficient escape vehicle ever made, I made my way back home. Nobody was home – Chuck, Casey, and Morgan were all at the Buy More, and Ellie and Awesome were at the hospital. I'd be able to continue my operation in peace.

I arrived in Echo Park, completely alone. Parking the bike beside the door, I discovered the front door was locked. I sighed, thumping my head on the wood. Why didn't I ask for keys? How could I have possible forgotten to ask? It should've been one of those thing that were mandatory.

I considered picking my way into the house, too, but I figured it would probably be pushing my luck. At least there were alternative methods of entry.

One of those would be a fire escape ladder. It led into Chuck's room, but with no one here, I wasn't afraid of finding anything…disturbing.

The window was unlocked, so opening it from the outside wasn't too hard. Being in California, the windows were easy to open. They were thin in comparison to the ones in Montana, which were thick to protect against the cold. I could always, of course, break the glass, but that would be harder to explain.

Climbing up the stairs and slipping into the room, I found nothing suspicious. There wasn't a sound in the house, which was absolutely normal.

There was a huge TV in Chuck's room, and I immediately felt a sense of jealousy. This dude makes twelve dollars an hour and can afford _this_? That is totally insane!  
On the bright side, he had a VCR, and it wasn't like I didn't mind having a reason to _use_ said giant TV.

I slid the tape into the machine and turned on the TV. Fetching the remote from his bedside table, I flopped onto the big bed and started fast-forwarding the images. The screen was divided into a dozen smaller ones, each displaying a different camera view. I had to go through a few hours of early morning footage and some very disturbing images involving Jeff, Lester, and video cameras. I refuse to go into detail.

Then, as shadows rotated on the floor and people started to stream in and meander about, and became so bored I almost missed it when Yankee Cap came in. It wasn't until he was examining a particularly ugly teapot did I realize what he was really doing.

Hiding a secret message.

Actually, I couldn't tell _what_ he was putting in there. All I could make out, even after zooming in on it, was just a white square of folded paper. The monochromatic recording didn't help, and neither did the scratchy picture. For a Buy More, a store filled with the latest and greatest technology, you'd think they'd be able to afford better security cameras.

I frowned, thinking. He put in a message in a teapot for…what? Who? Was someone supposed to come around and pick it up?

I gasped. Was this some sort of drop-off? Or was it called a dead drop? I couldn't remember, but it didn't matter anyways. But what was written on the paper? Who was it for?

Mission: Retrieval of Evidence – Complete.

New Objective: Find that paper.

I got up. Alright. Just a quick trip back to the Buy More. No big deal. And I didn't even have to do anything illegal this time around. And what were the chances of anyone buying such an ugly teapot like that? With the outdated paisley and primary colors, it looked like it popped out of an old 80's commercial.

I had better get moving.


	9. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Chuck vs. _the Mole_

"Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy!" Shaw snarled. "Do you realize what kind of situation you put the whole mission in, Chuck?"  
Chuck stared at the man, baffled. "What are you talking about?"

"This, Chuck!" Shaw slammed a file down on the table, rattling the metal. Chuck jumped, paling at the sudden act of violence. "Look at these files!"

Chuck tentatively edged the file towards him, watching Shaw cautiously, in case anymore Chuck-bashing was about to ensue. He glanced at the files, his eyes skimming over the words. Okay…okay…Suspect on the run. Last seen in Burbank area. Missing photographer, dead actor. A mole. Well, that wasn't a big surprise. Los Angeles was practically a hotspot for criminal activity.

"I don't see what the problem is…" Chuck's voice faded at the hard look Shaw was throwing at him. Apparently, there was a problem. Apparently, they thought he was too dumb to see it. "Wha…?"

"Don't you understand?" Shaw snapped. "Something happened at the Buy More! They snuck under our radar. We don't know what they did, and now we've got a mole problem."

"A mole problem?" Chuck frowned. "You mean, like those nasty things you get on your skin or someth-"

"No, Chuck, not _that_ kind of mole," Sarah replied, repressing the urge to roll her eyes. "A mole is a kind of double agent. They've established a long enough cover to not be detected by our scanners. They were activated not long ago, and now we have no idea who they could be."

"You were supposed to keep watch," Shaw growled, hurling daggers at Chuck with his eyes. "But you weren't. Now you've just made the whole problem worse."

"Okay, look, first of all, I didn't _see_ anyone there!" Chuck said indignantly. "And second, how can that person be any threat? I mean, nothing bad happened, right? No bombs, no secret messages, no impending doom, right?"

"We don't know." Shaw said in a low voice.

"What?"

"Look, Chuck." Shaw turned to look at the blank computer screens, as if glaring at Chuck for too long might cause permanent damage. "When someone infiltrates the Buy More and passes intelligence right under our nose, it becomes our duty to find both the giver and receiver before the message gets across.

"And?"

"We don't know yet," Sarah explained. "These guys must've been thinking ahead. We tried going through security footage, but nothing came up. The data _literally_ disappeared. We can't find the records anywhere. They must've have come around and taken it. Maybe they even destroyed it."

"So, um," Chuck complained. "Does that mean we're screwed?"

"It means we've severely underestimated our opponents." Shaw shook his head. "But we've still got a chance. There might be back-up files. And we're doing background searches on _everyone_, both employees and people living in the area. It'll narrow the playing field, and then we'll be able to find out if they've seen anything. You, Chuck, will be leading the investigation."

"Whoa, what?" Chuck sat up straight, startled. "Why-Why am _I_ doing this?"

"Don't freak out," Casey sneered. "You'll just interview current Buy More employees under the pretense that you're doing an inspection. Threaten them their jobs – they'll usually talk." He cracked his knuckles. "Those losers are easy to break."

"Yeah, which is why their giving the job to _me_," Chuck threw a nasty look at Casey, jerking a thumb at his own chest. "With you on the job, there probably wouldn't be any people _left_ to work."

"Consider it a chance to redeem yourself. Interviewing employees would be a hard thing to mess up on." Shaw gave Chuck a pointed look, raising a skeptical eyebrow. As if Chuck were capable of breaking new boundaries of Stupid.

Chuck glanced at some of the security screens. Most were of his house, which was nothing unusual. The Bartowski nest was not unknown to excitement. But a certain image made his stomach drop out of his chest.

"W-what is Sam doing in my room?" Chuck stared, wide-eyed. "And how did she get into the house? I thought you said the place was locked!"

"We did." Shaw smirked. "Sam just has more credit that you give her for."

As the recording ended, I withdrew the tape and turned off the TV. If my assumptions were still right, I could still get to the Buy More and find that teapot. And then I can prove to Officer Borsch that I'm not an idiot. How's that for two birds with one stone?

Exiting Chuck's bedroom, I peeked around the hallway, although that was pretty much unnecessary. For some reason, I felt as though using Chuck's TV was some sort of crime. Ha. As if.

I'm his cousin. Certainly, that meant I had a couple privileges, right? I mean, it wasn't like I was going through his personal stuff. And what did he have to hide, anyways?

There was an ID tag by his lamp. At a glance, I recognized his goofy face, but it was the name under it that made me stop completely in my tracks.

Charles Carmichael?

The card was some sort of membership to whatever, but what was Chuck's face sticking to a different name? I paused. For all I knew, it was probably some sort of pass to a game club. I had to be honest, with their surprising quantity of games, it wouldn't surprise me if this was some sort of gamer alias.

I moved on and went down the stairs. With no one around, I didn't try to be sneaky. I was still dusty from the air vent escape and I figured that if I had time to spare, I could at least not look like I've been on an episode of _Mythbusters_.

Going into the kitchen, I washed away the grime. My hands were especially dirty – the Buy More air vents weren't exactly the cleanest places on earth, and several unfortunate encounters with spiders caused me to freak and kick some bug butt. _Sooo_ gross.

I shook my hair, and a cloud of dust exploded around my head. Gasping and sneezing, I stumbled backwards and hit the refrigerator. After I regained whatever was left of my dignity, I huffed and wiped my wet hands on my jeans and left the house before I could cause any more damage.

But when I opened the door, instead of finding a clear pathway to answering these weird questions, I found…

Morgan.

He seemed startled to find that the door had opened of its own accord, then even more so when he discovered I was on the other side. "Uh, Sam! H-hi! How'd you get in? I thought the door was locked."

"It wasn't," I lied, allowing him inside. It was easier to say that than explaining how I broke into the house by opening an unlocked window on the second floor. It wasn't even that hard, but I wasn't going to tell Morgan that. The last thing I wanted to do was give him any ideas.

"Chuck's not here, huh?" Morgan assumed correctly, looking around at the living room devoid of human life. I was already considering making a run for it, but then Morgan turned around and grinned so brightly that I knew he was an evil mastermind at heart. "That means there's only one other person who can fill in his spot."

"Uh?" I said stupidly, gazing at Morgan in bafflement. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah! How about a round of _Halo_? Or _Mortal Kombat_?"

I almost died laughing. However, I managed to choke it down, uttering a derisive snort that was probably ruder than I intended. "Me? _Halo_? I don't think so, buddy."

"Oh, come on, Sam!" Morgan pleaded, and I had to remind myself that I had to live with this guy. He was the adult version of a videogame nerd. He went ape-crazy at the single thought of virtual guns and big explosions. "It's a great idea!"

"Um, I think our definitions of 'great idea' are a little different, Morgan," I said, chuckling nervously and quickly edging for the door. I had to get out of here! "I really shouldn't…"

"Nonsense!" Morgan threw up his hands in the air, then grabbed my wrist. He had strong hands for a man so small and I had to wonder how far exactly his physical capabilities went. "Sam, the world of videogames is open to everyone, man, woman, and the occasional female teenager. Release your inner child, Sam! This is what humans were meant for!"

"Violent homicides and overdramatic warfare?"

"What? No! No, no, no. Videogames are made to do one thing and one thing only. To delve into the very minds of the human psyche and remove all sense of self-awareness and mental functions. Allow yourself to be submerged into the raging typhoon of virtual honor and rise in military stature until you become the ultimate, all powerful, mindless killing machine."

"Somehow, I fail to succumb."

"Will you just give it a try?" Morgan pleaded, pulling me towards the living room and pushing a game remote into my hands. "I'm sure you've got a whole ton of pent-up rage hidden in your…terrifyingly acute brain. All that stress from moving around, getting use to things around here – don't you sometimes just want to shoot things and kill people? It's all about releasing your Zen, Sam. Just release your zen."

"Morgan, can I ask you something?"

"Yeah?"

"You have no idea what Zen is, do you?"

"Uh, no," he made a face, shrugging in a who-cares sort of way. "But it sounded good, didn't you think? I'm really working on my monologues. Nothing like gloating your victory in front of a weakened opponent, right?"

"Right…" I literally felt my heart sink as the images of animated warfare appeared on the screen of the TV. A deep, manly voice narrated some mighty mumbo-jumbo about how much war sucked, and I knew that there was no way I could get out of this now.

"There's no need to be so upset, Sam," Morgan said amiably, giving me a playful punch in the shoulder. The look I gave him was a tiny notch below DEATH GLARE, and Morgan immediately backed off and said quickly, "What I mean to say is, I think you can really benefit from this experience. I figured a sheltered girl like you doesn't get a lot of exposures to gaming, so I thought I'd introduce you. Then again, it's not like you've got a chance against the Cobra (me, that is), who kicks total ass no matter the situation."

I looked at Morgan as he focused on the screen, pressing buttons without even looking at them. He said a couple more things but I was too busy thinking about that last sentence. Did he just challenge me? Did he think I wasn't up for a stupid little game of war?

I'd hate to admit it, but Morgan had me hooked. There was no way I was leaving this couch until I proved my worth. It wasn't fair for him to say that, and I was totally gonna get him back for it.

And thus, I succumbed to the world of videogames.

For now.


	10. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Sam vs. _the Rose_

It is with great sadness today that I have to convey this horrible news to you, the reader. A tragedy of tragedies. With melancholy so deep that makes even full grown men cry, I say to you:

I totally handed Morgan his butt in _Mortal Kombat _AND _Halo_.

Eat your heart out, Cobra.

Unfortunately, it ate up a lot of my time – and I mean_ a lot_! I couldn't believe how much time had passed after Morgan finally turned off the game systems. Hours had passed, I missed dinner, and I had to rub my eyes several times before looking back at the clock just to make sure it really _was_ that close to my bedtime.

Man, for all the skill I had, I still had to go to sleep. And I was _starving_.

Morgan seemed to be in a state of shock. Or awe. Or excitement. Maybe a combination of the three. "Sam, why didn't you ever tell me you were the Chosen One?"

"The what-now?"

"The Chosen One! The One Who Masters All Games! Man, how can you _not_ like gaming?"

I yawned, stumbling into the kitchen and taking out a bowl of leftover soup. Better than nothing. "My eyes hurt. And I'm hungry."  
"Oh, but those are only the side-effects! You know what, you could totally compete in the X-Box tournaments at the Buy More. You could own _all_ of the employees! I'd finally be able to win my bets!"

"Morgan, as awesome as that sounds," I mumbled, putting the soup into the microwave and punching in a couple buttons. "I'd rather not be used for your little money issues."

"Ah, I see. You're one of those loner types. A free ranger. I get it."

"Good." I didn't care if he was actually being sarcastic or not. I just wanted to eat and go to sleep.

"You're not going to be busy tomorrow, are you?"  
"Morgan, I will forever be busy if gaming is the only thing that's going to be waiting for me at home."

"Aww."

"Go to bed, Morgan."

"But –"

"Now."

Morgan sighed, his shoulders slumped, and he shuffled dejectedly off to bed. I felt kind of bad, but I'm sorry – I couldn't waste my time in front of the TV when there were better ways to spend my time. Like, I don't know, solving certain murder mysteries.

After I ate, I hit the sack and immediately fell asleep. It didn't matter what I dreamt of because I couldn't remember it in the morning, but I was vaguely aware that it involved a lot of explosions and airplanes, and for some strange reason, pie. I just don't know.

The morning came too early the next day. The sun shone through my window, despite the fact that I had the curtains drawn, and it was all I could do to sleep until nine, before I couldn't take fighting the sun any more. Everyone was already gone by the time I managed to haul myself out of bed, which was just fine with me. I preferred being alone, especially when I was doing things that maybe I shouldn't be doing.

I took a shower, hoping the warm water would help me gather my thoughts. Everything from the previous day came back to me – teapot, Yankee Cap, secret message. I'd have to go to the Buy More and look for it. With any luck, it hadn't been received.

But as I was on the way to the Buy More, I couldn't help but feel as though I was missing something. What that something was about, I couldn't be sure, either. Did it have to do with Yankee Cap? Or maybe it had something to do with Alex? Unlikely, but what else could it be?  
I was still running it over in my mind when I locked my bike into the rack and headed inside. I looked around for Chuck, but he didn't seem to be here. Which didn't surprise me – from what I learned, Nerd Herders made home calls. He was probably off saving some geek's life.

I made a beeline for the kitchen appliances. I wanted to make this quick – I was risking life and limb being in here. Lester might be planning his revenge.

On the bright side, there were only so many teapots to look through. On the not-s0-bright side, I couldn't find the message.

I examined the pot – it was the exact same one that I saw in the security footage. Where could it have gone? Yeah, there was plenty of time for it to have gotten picked up. It made my heart sink. What was I going to do? There was no way I could track down the perp!

I scowled and set down the pot with more force than necessary. I guess I _could_ call Officer Borcsh, but all my dignity had been drained. Whatever I had to tell him was probably useless.

Strangely, I had his number memorized. The video-cassette was in my bag, and I had a story made-up for explaining how I got my hands on it. Nothing incriminating, of course. That wouldn't be very good.

I slipped behind the Nerd Herd center desk and picked up a phone, dialing the number. As I waited for it to ring, I bit my lip. What if this wasn't all I thought it was? What if Borsch caught on to the fact that I had stolen the video tape?

No, I thought to myself. Ignore that. Just ignore it. What he doesn't know won't hurt him.

"Hello?" the other end picked up.

My breath came out in a big whoosh. My thoughts rushed in together and I blurted, "Hey, yeah, it's me. You know, girl from the Buy More? Yeah, I found the security footage. Of that guy on the news. He put something into a teapot, but I checked and it' s gone. Just thought you should know."

There was silence on the other end, and for a second I was worrying that I had called the wrong number. Oh, my God, what if I called the wrong number? Imagine the person on the other end, thinking I was a total nut without even waiting for them to talk? Oh, man, I'm really dead, aren't I?

But my heart skipped a beat as I heard Borsch's voice on the other end. "That's…that's very good, Miss…umm?"

"Bartowski." I finished for him. "Samantha Bartowski."

"Well, Miss Bartowski," Borsch sounded vaguely impressed. "That's good. That's very good. Exactly _how_ did you learn this?"

"I, uh…" Damn. My mind blanked and I completely forgot what I was going to tell him. The stress had wiped out every idea from my head. Stammering, I finished lamely, "I've got my ways, let's just put it that way."

"Well, you've certainly helped the investigation. We appreciate your contribution."

_Click_. The line ended.

I made a face. His tone sounded automated, like he said that to every other witness. As a matter of fact, I couldn't even tell if it helped at all. He sounded so monotone, it was like he had to deal with people like me every day. Had I really helped, or was he just saying that to be polite? It didn't matter anymore. I was through, I was done. This whole thing was over with.

My adventure was finally over.

I slipped out of the desk area and headed outside. I saw Lester come towards me, murder in his eye, but I surged forward and blew past him. I don't care what planet you're from, no one wants to deal with him. And especially after our last encounter, I didn't want to risk it.

I shot out the doors before he could catch up, feeling a sense of satisfaction as I heard Big Mike calling his name. I guess there are some upsides to being a customer at a store you hate.

I wasn't entirely sure what I was going to do now. Sure, I was still positive I was forgetting something, but my brain refused to cooperate with me. But I figured I could handle that later.

My bike was right there where I left it. The flower, though, was completely new.

I did a sort of double-take when I saw it. Not because it was there, and I wasn't the one who left it, or that it was obscenely bright in color or size, but because whoever left it suddenly reminded me what I was forgetting all this time.

Dad.

Okay, not Dad specifically. But my little tradition I did on this very day – June 29th. It wasn't the last day I saw him. It wasn't the day I heard he was gone. It was the day I finally understood he was never coming back.

It took a few years for me to get around to that conclusion. I mean, I was just a kid. What do you do when you learn that the one guy who's always been there for you, always shared your jokes and bought you ice cream, suddenly vanished from your life?

You hope, that's what.

And I did. For days and weeks and months and years on end. My mother got to the he's-not-coming-back conclusion way faster than I did. Roughly within the first month we heard the news. I was disgusted that she had given up so soon, but I too had to let go at one point or another.

It still hurt, even now. I guess it would be weird if it didn't, like everyone would think I was this freaky robot who wasn't capable of emotions. Yeah, sure, I cried like every other kid in the world who loses a friend or family member. I'm not afraid to admit it.

But in the back of my mind I still didn't want to give up on him. Something was telling me he was still out there. Somewhere.

But I digress.

The flower was stuck through the basket, intertwined in the thatch. I couldn't recognize the flower at first. It was a rose, that much was obvious. White, its petals closed. And dethorned, thank goodness. Karma would just love to have me prick my fingers a thousand times over.

There was a note attached. I didn't see it at first, mostly because the white of the flower kind of blocked the white of the paper. It was tied with a piece of twine. Pricking my thumb on an invisible thorn, I removed the note and opened it, reading the rather short and concise message inside.

_Meet me at the corner of Ellsworth and Pine at 5 o'clock tonight. _

_-Alex_

What? No explanation? Just because you got me a flower and sent me a very intriguing not does not mean it will actually happen? Did he actually think I'd want to go and still not know where we're going?

Um. Yes.

What can I say? I'm a sucker for mysteries. And you can't get any more mysterious than a single flower an a little message. It felt like I was in a romantic movie, where I was the protagonist and weird things tended to happen to me. A lot.

I looked around, as if Alex were still around. Even though I knew he wouldn't be, I was still a little disappointed. I mean, I _did_ kind of like him, even though I knew absolutely _nothing_ about him. What was his favorite flavor of ice cream? His favorite movie? What does he like to do on the weekends? Does he sing the shower?  
You know. All the important stuff.

But I shook my head to myself and mounted my bike. I had a tradition to get over with. And a date (was it a date? Was I allowed to call it that?) to prepare for? What in the world was I going to do about that? There are so many things to do –

Whoa, buddy. One thing at a time. Tradition first. Date-thingy later.

'What is this Mysterious Tradition Sam keeps going on about?' you readers are probably asking. 'Why won't she just quit stalling until the very last moment just to raise the utter suspense of the moment?'

Well, I shall tell you, O Curious Audience. I am, after all, a fair and just teenage girl (with too many issues). It happened a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…

Nah, just kidding. I was nine, and it was in Italy.

What? I'm not _that_ old!

Alright, I'll quit stalling.

Today was kind of my own Memorial Day for my dad, the day he disappeared from my life. I know you already know that, but I'm just making sure. You see, he kind of never had an actual funeral, because there was no body and no info (for me, at least). Besides, even if there _were_ a funeral, I would've been too busy bawling my eyes out to remember.

Anyways. Today was the day where I took a mini-vacation from everyday life. I usually would've been at home, studying or something. Mom teneded to take my education a little too seriously and sometimes I'd still be learning throughout the summer. This was because Dad wasn't around. He taught me almost everything I knew.

It was also the day where I pedaled and hiked for hours, trying to find the highest point, either over a valley or the ocean, someplace nearby.

Back in Montana, it was always someplace different, because each year I got older and stronger, and Mom let travel and explore farther away from the house. I'm not saying I almost died on a couple occasions from almost falling down ravines or nasty run-ins with bears and mountain lions, but those are stories for another day.

It was a tribute to him, from the time we went to the Mediterranean, climbed a decently-sized hill, and stood on a cliff overlooking the beautiful crystalline sea, little boats floating by with their white sails.

We were surrounded by beautiful exotic flowers that smelled so sweet it felt like heaven. I was only seven or eight at the time, and the view was more than any picture book could describe. My dad had plucked a flower from the overhanging plants and carefully tore off the petals, trying not to rip them.

At the time, I was a little affronted by this strange action. Why would he ruin a perfectly good flower? It didn't look so pretty when all the petals were gone? What was he going to do? I almost complained aloud, but I'm now glad I didn't. It would've ruined the moment.

Dad stood on the ledge of the cliff, precariously close to falling, and opened his palm.

The wind magically happened to pick up at that moment and the sight of the petals exploding from his hands and twirling crazily over the water far below was the most dazzling thing my seven-year-old self had ever seen.

And that concludes my wonderful flashback. What'd you think?  
It kind of sounds corny now that I think about it, but when you're a little kid still dreaming of being an astronaut and living in the Wild West and riding fire-breathing dragons (sometimes all at once), you're up for anything.

I do something similar: buy a bunch of brightly colored flowers (preferably not daffodils or poppies, because I don't like the smell), keep them alive long enough until you reach your destination, pull off the petals, and wait for a really good wind to pick them up and send them away. Sometimes its quick and I get to go home, and other times I have to wait for hours for things to happen.

As for the flowers in Montana, I usually stole some of the genetically altered ones my mom grew in her garage, or yanked them from the flower bushes (neither of which I'm proud to admit, since Mom works hard on both to look and smell great).

I took off on my bike, trying to remember where I last saw that flower market – was it across the boulevard, past the grocery store, or down Bloomsbury Avenue near that chicken place?  
Turns out, it was neither. I found it after going through a labyrinth of streets, one time mistaking a newspaper vendor for Jeff and promptly running over his foot, and another time almost coming to terms with imminent death and the afterlife when I almost got uncomfortably close to a big SUV going way over the speed limit.

After risking life, limb, and my right ear (after the vendor chucked a newspaper at my head), it was between a coffee shop and a videogame store. This was especially weird, since I was pretty sure I saw the same store, only in a different location. But whatever. I got my flowers and quickly left.

The next step was finding the proper place for the send-off.

I figured the best thing I could go for was the beach. And while that took a hefty amount of time (A grand total of 2 hours, 7 minutes, and 38 seconds on a mountain bike made for rough terrain). The one thing that can describe a Californian beach?

Palm trees.

Oh, so many palm trees.

I've never come into contact with one until today. First of all, they are really, really big, and they're not those cute little drawings in picture books. They aren't especially beautiful, but you can't admit you feel like a Lilliputian when you walk right up to one. It was breezy here, and I could hear the waves even though I was half a kilometer away. There were dozens of tourists shops and restuarants, and a _lot_ of people. I looked around desperately. Where the heck was I going to find a cliff, a _private _one, in this place?

I found my answer rather quick.

In the distance, I could see a low mountain rise. On that mountain were pretty little houses on cliffs. There were plenty of trees, and a lot stuff to climb. It seemed like the perfect place to look.

Granted, I might've done some not-so-legal things to find said spot. I had to go over biker speed limit, ignore a couple of angry pedestrians, and trespass on private property. But I swear I didn't do anything! It wasn't like I was killing anyone stepping on grass and hopping over some ten-foot fences.

I found it behind a rather large house of three floors and more than enough Jacuzzis. Sure I had to sneak past a fat guy in on a lawn chair by jumping from his brick wall of a fence to the lowest edge of the roof, and sneak across without being seen by him or anyone inside. No biggie. It was all for a good cause.

But clearing that house, I discovered a small clearing. It was covered by a low canopy, so I had to stoop to get in. Brush and trees lined either side, and I had to push and kick my way through. At the very end, I found a ledge, no more than a couple feet of clear space. The sun didn't enter this little corner of the world, but that was okay. 95 degrees Fahrenheit was just fine for me.

It was amazing how the flowers (pinkish-redish-purplish and looked kind of like an orchid, but I had no idea what they were) managed to survive my little escapade, but they were only a little beat up. I lost a couple on the way, and others had broken stems, but that was okay. I didn't particularly need them, anyways.

And thus began the pulling of petals.

The first time, I didn't pay much attention to how many flowers I picked. But one time I realized that the numbers of flowers I had taken was the same number of years he had been gone (only three…but that was because Mom caught me the last time and I was trying to be more inconspicuous with the picking). Now I had five in my hand, and it felt weird to think about how many times I would have to do this. How long was it going to be until he came back, if at all? Would I be doing this for the rest of my life? How dangerous can being a doctor be if you suddenly disappear without a trace for five years?

I shrugged to myself, resolved. I'll keep doing it until he comes back. Simple as that. I didn't have to overthink it.

The petals were silky smooth in my hand, and the smell, while a little acrid, filled the small space I was in. At least it wasn't so bad. Not as nice as the ones Dad picked, but still.

I looked over the edge of the cliff, wondering if anyone in a boat that passed by would see a girl's head poking out of the cliff face. That would be awkward, wouldn't it? I sure hope they wouldn't call the police.

I extended my hand and let the petals fall. There were still some trees below, but half-way down the wind picked up and carries away the petals in a huge swirl of color, carrying them away. They looked like sick butterflies, caught in turbulence, and flickered in the sunlight as they disappeared.

I sighed. I wanted a replay button on life to see it again, kind of wishing I hadn't been so hasty, but whatever. It was over now.

Something caught my ear. It was a weird sound – _SHHHHUUUSSHHHHH_! – like someone was being really loud about shushing someone, only really far away. I looked around, confused. Was it coming from the house? It was coming from the wrong direction.

And the sound didn't stop, and it didn't so quite so human anymore. What the heck was making that sound?

I got up and leaned over the edge of the cliff, where the noise seemed to grow a little louder. Left? Right? Nothing.

What in the world?

That's when I looked down.

"Whoa!" I jumped in surprise and nearly fell head-over-heels off the precipice. I grabbed a tree limb at the last moment and clung for dear life as I stared at the waterfall directly below me, seemingly gushing out of the rock wall like some giant facet of the earth.

It was quite unsettling, seeing that water coming out of a hole ten feet beneath my feet. Was I standing above an underground river? That was so cool, it was hard to imagine.

Then there came another sound, one that I could clearly identify.

It was the sound of an engine. Not a car – it wasn't nearly as loud – but a boat. I looked over to the right and saw a yacht speeding in like a bat out of hell, past some trees blocking my view, and right into the cliff wall. The engine kept going until it faded away.

I was frozen for a moment, stunned, still clinging to the tree.

"Why is it that when something weird happens, it has to be on _your_ day?" I demanded, shouting at the sky, as if my dad could hear me.

I couldn't believe it. The one day I had off and I'm seeing boats running straight into a rock face and not explode to smithereens. I mean, it didn't even _sound_ like it hit anything. Like it just kept going and going and going…

Where the heck could a boat go when it was heading straight for land at sixty miles (knots?) an hour?

I got up on my own two feet, frustrated. Great, more mysteries that I knew for sure was going to bother me until I got a decent answer. I mean, what was I going to do about a boat heading straight for land and not crashing? It was a sheer wall of rock (I saw it from the roof of the fat dude's house) – I'm no whiz at boats, but I'm pretty sure they aren't impervious to solid land masses.

But there was nothing I could do. My internal clock was telling me that if I didn't head off _now_, there was no way in history I'd ever be able to meet Alex on time. I mean, it took two hours to get here! It had to be almost two o'clock, and I had wasted enough time already.

I made my way back, skipping across Jacuzzi Man's roof, scaling walls, and avoiding the yipping, hostile Chihuahuas. I had stashed my bike in a bush behind a big sign in front of the entrance of the suburban community. There was a gate, but it was closed now. I had just walked right in earlier, but now there was a guard nearby. I threw myself behind a Hummer as he walked by, scanning the area for any hobos or loonies who managed to get in while he was off duty. As soon as his back was turned, I dashed to the bushes near the gate.

It took only a couple minutes to find a hole that some dog must've dug up and crawled through that. I guess I wasn't the only one dying to get out of here. It was a tight squeeze, and I got dirt on all my clothes, in my hair, and underneath my nails. I ended up scratching my face and back, but otherwise I was unhurt and unseen.

Grabbing my bike, I pedaled as swiftly as I could to get out of there. The ride down the mountain was pretty quick, considering the only thing I had to do was use my breaks every once and a while to get around a curve or avoid a nasty relationship with the grills of a car.

The rose had managed to stay on my bike with minimal damage, with much deliberation on my part. I had to make sure it was still there every five minutes, turning around while riding so much that I almost scared myself into crashing into a palm tree. I narrowly avoided it and decided that if I wasn't careful, it'd be _me_ that was going to get hurt.

The two hours seemed to fly by, yet they wouldn't be over soon enough. I rushed through traffic, even dodging around a couple slow cars near the interstate to get ahead of the game. I was nervous. The clock was ticking, and I absolutely didn't want to be late.

My legs felt like lead by the time I got home. After four hours of riding a bike and trespassing private property, I was ready to take a long shower and hit the sack. Then I remembered I still had someplace to go to, and that maybe Alex and I should improve our communication skills because I wasn't sure I was going to be ready for anything for the next couple days.

Stich in my side, I had just set the bike against the fountain and took out the flower to examine the message when a sudden wind picked up, tearing the flower right out of my hand and into the air. I gasped and scratched at the air for it, but the wind whipped it up…up…

And into the weathervane on the roof.

I looked glumly at it. Dad just loved making my life difficult, didn't he?

I sighed. Of course I had to get it, especially since I didn't exactly remember the address written on it. I had been so occupied with the Tradition I barely had time to think about it.

How was I going to get up there?

I briefly considered knocking on the door of the owner's flat, but that was a bad idea. It wasn't like it was Chuck's place, or there wouldn't even be a question. But it wasn't Ellie's and Awesome's, either, which may or may not have been more difficult to explain to. No, the rose was on top of _Casey's_ apartment, and if there was one guy I wasn't going to willing talk to, it was him.

I mean, seriously, have you _seen_ that guy? He's, like, Chuck Norris incarnate –only scarier. Me having to explain that there was a rose on his roof that I really needed to get or else my life would cease to exist as we know it? Yeah, I don't think so.

I looked around, thinking carefully. There was the fire escape ladder, but that was on the other side of the building, and the weathervane was at the top of the little tower.

On the other hand, there was a little balcony on the second floor. It had a low roof, and even though no one was home, I could still climb the walls by using the window ledges. It wasn't too hard so long as you've got practice and good grip.

Leaving the fountain, I pulled myself onto the window ledge and reached up, my fingers finding small niches in the wall to pull myself up. Getting a hold on some brickwork a foot above the window, I lifted myself past it, using the glass for support as I pressed my sneakers against it. Swinging slightly, I hauled myself up on top of the window. My toes had very little area to stand on, and the protruding brickwork was too low for good balance. I quivered, standing there uncertainly. If I didn't move now, I was going to topple backwards. If I didn't move now, I was going to topple backwards.

I felt myself tipping backwards. Panicking, I jumped with whatever leverage I had left. My arms flailed in the air, and caught the very lip of the balcony, over ot my right. My very finger-tips were the only thing keeping me from crashing into the ground. I gasped, a little stunned by this little stroke of luck. I reached up and grasped a bar from the guardrail protecting the balcony. Using this new, firmer hold, I managed to get my body up and over the rail. I was relieved to feel solid ground beneath me.

I took a second to catch my breath. All this for a little rose? My life depended on this!  
I looked up. There was a roof covering the balcony. Climbing onto the rail, I reached up and held the edge of the gutter for support. Taking deep breathes to calm my nerves (It would be a long fall if I lost balance), I felt the ceramic shingles and used that probably ill-used upper body strength. Why should I be so worried in the first place? I was doing all this kind of stuff back at that suburban rich-person place – why was this feeling so much harder?

Well, maybe because people I knew live here, and the one guy I'm actually afraid of is the one guy who happens to own the apartment wall I was scaling.

I shook my head and took a second to motivate myself. Just get this stupid thing over with, Sam. Casey probably wasn't even here, and it wouldn't matter anyways if you'd just get it and get down. If you can climb freaky rock formations in the Garden of the Gods, you can scale a stupid two story house!

Lifting myself up was a little scary, considering that the shingles shifted and slide underneath my grip. When I was actually on top of the roof, I found myself almost stuff with fear, worried that I was going to slip and fall. It didn't help that the roof was slanted.

I slowly made my way across the roof – which was really, _really_ hot. I've climbed a couple of roofs in my day, but I guess it can get pretty hot in California. I hadn't noticed in the Suburban area because I wasn't on my hands and knees, but now I was really regretting wearing shorts today.

I came to the edge of the roof. There was a three foot gap between me and the tower-like structure in front of me. I would've gone around, but my hands were literally burning up, and I didn't like taking the long route in a lot of situations that involved more pain.

I rotated my body so my legs were sticking over the edge. Then, changing my mind, I decided to stand up. Wobbly from the height and a craving for some nice, cool lemonade, I gauged the distance. It wasn't going to be easy to jump – it wasn't the length that bothered me. It was the landing. The roof of the little tower was a lot more slanted than the one I was on right now. If my feet didn't get the right grip, I could slip, or topple, or completely fall off.

I crouched, spreading my arms to my sides, and jumped. I was hoping for the best…and expecting the worse, which was exactly what happened. My foot slipped when it landed on the shingles, and shot out from underneath me. My chin smacked into the ceramic, and I felt myself slipping off. I gasped, scrambling for something – anything! – to stop my impending doom

My right foot, surprisingly, managed to catch the ledge of the roof I just jumped off. My sliding came to an abrupt stop. I hung there, frozen in this ridiculous position between two rooftops, wondering how I was gonna get out of this one. Too much weight was on my left leg, the one supporting me. If I tried to shift it, I'd fall again.

I looked around and saw the rose above me. I extending my arm, pushing with as much strain as my legs and spine could handle. I could just reach it…

Got it!

Relief flowed through me as I plucked the rose from the weathervane. Got you, you little son of a…

"Sam!" cried a voice. "What are doing up there?"

The shout startled me so bad that I nearly fell again. I hugged the hot roof, stunned and feeling like I had a sunburn on my cheek. I hadn't heard anyone approach!  
I looked down, feeling a blush rise in my cheeks. Ellie and Awesome were below, with the most astounded looks on their faces. I guess this _was_ a weird situation to be in. With a rose, no less.

"Um…" I struggled to come up with an excuse. It wasn't like I was doing anything _bad_ or, you know, secretive. "Getting something?"

"Get down from there right now!" Ellie commanded with something between concern and anger. She was dressed in blue scrubs, as was Awesome. I hadn't thought of them being home for a lunch break or anything. "You're going to hurt yourself!"

"Um, sure," I said amiably, feeling a growing sense of dread inside of me. I hadn't thought of my escape just yet. "I'll do that. As soon as I know how."

"Why are you even up there?" Ellie asked me, her brows drawn together.

"_How_ did she get up there?" Awesome rectified, with a mixture of approval and confusion on his face, rubbing his chin. What – was he _impressed_ or something?

There was a beeping noise and Ellie glanced at her watch, frowning. "We have to go or we'll be late. You get down from there, Sam! And if you get hurt, I'm calling your mother!"

"Aye, aye, Mrs. Awesome!"

Ellie gave me one last skeptical look before heading towards her car. As soon as her back was turned, Awesome flashed me a huge grin and two enthusiastic thumbs up before racing after her. I watched them go, relieved.

That is, until I saw the ninja.


	11. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Sam vs. the Frying Pan

It should be said that I've never faced a ninja before. Not ever. I've traveled across the world and learned a bunch of things, but fighting ninjas who are invading your house? Yeah, that usually doesn't come with the itinerary during the tour.

But that's not to say I didn't know how to defend myself.

The ninja was dressed in bluish-gray garb. The only reason why I actually _knew_it was a ninja was the fact it was a full body suit, mask and all, and that he was carrying a very large knife. Ready to kill somebody.

And here I was, in plain sight, in the most ridiculous and vulnerable position. What if he looked out the window and saw me? I would be a goner for sure!

I acted fast, my mind going on auto-pilot. It was a strange feeling, really. I kind of forgot how to be scared in those few seconds. In the back of my mind, I knew that whatever I did next would determine what would happen to me. I couldn't make mistakes.

I dropped my feet, sliding down the roof again. Only now I was in control, and I caught the gutter as I fell. Taking a second to stop swinging, I looked down and let go, falling into a bush. The landing was noisy and scratchy, but I was otherwise alive and pretty much unharmed. Sticking the rose in my bike basket for safe-keeping, I crept towards Chuck's apartment.

I snuck in the way I did last time. The ninja was on the first floor, looking around the couch and checking the kitchen. Through Chuck's window I went, and quietly shut the window behind me. Kicking off my sneakers and stuffing them under Chuck's bed, I crossed the threshold in my socks, careful to balance my weight on the balls of my feet. The last thing I needed right now was to topple over and knock something down, or heaven forbid, _trip_ and fall flat on my face.

The ninja was still downstairs. I couldn't see him (or her? Who knows?), so I didn't know if he knew I was here. Going under the assumption he still didn't, I slunk to my room, hoping to find something useful to defend myself. Do these guys hide any weapons around here? It was a shame they never told me.

Every part of my brain was screaming at me to run the hell away. But how could I do that? Plus, the insane part of me kind of _wanted_ to see what was up with the knife-wielding ninja. I don't know why, but this was _exciting_. Just the feeling of blood pumping in my veins, picking up the baseball bat Mom had packed for me, and out-ninja-ing a ninja was on such a high level of awesome that it was impossible to describe.

Then I recognized the feeling: Exhilaration. I thought this was _fun_.

Which, in any other case, would've freaked me out. But it was as if I had been dropped right in the middle of an action flick, sneaking up on the guy trying to kill me (or... well... someone else), the brave heroine who defies all odds and saves the day.

I was making my way out of the bedroom when I made my first mistake. I was reaching for the phone in my room when an involuntary twitch jerked my hand and knocked over the chunky clay pot I made in art class in the first grade. I watched, in horrified fascination, as the pot seemed to fall in slow motion, watching as piece by piece of it ruptured on contact with the hardwood floor, sending colorful shards of hardened rock everywhere.

I didn't hear the crash until two seconds later, and by then I was in deep, deep trouble.

My breath caught in my throat. I couldn't suck in enough oxygen, too astounded to believe the sheer idiocy of the moment. A twitch – a stupid twitch – had totally given myself away. Oh, man. I was dead now.

Any delusions of grandeur evaporated as I heard the soft footsteps and the creaking of wood as the ninja made his steady way up the stairs. I looked around desperately, hoping that by chance of miracle, a magical doorway would appear and teleport me somewhere very far away.

But this wasn't Harry Potter and nothing of the sort happened. I was stuck in the real world, and I was as good as dead.

Well, not yet. I remembered all the times I've played hide-and-seek with my family (quite often since we moved around so much. Unloading furniture and setting it up in a place you aren't familiar with makes for incredibly interesting games). Sometimes rooms would be completely devoid of furniture, so it was all I could do to duck and cover while being chased blindly by Mom and Dad. When all the cards were down, I'd go to the last resort...

And hide behind the door.

It was lame. It was so lame, I couldn't believe I was capable of it. This was something Morgan would do, and Morgan wasn't very smart, in my opinion. I had a baseball bat – dangerous to be sure, but it wasn't like I had the ability to use it effectively, especially against an attacker who was probably a master at killing people who owned freaking nuclear missiles. A little girl with a metal stick didn't have a thing on him.

I heard the soft swish of clothing as the ninja crept into the room. I tried peering through the crack between hinges, but it didn't give me much a view, and the angle was horrible. The ninja seemed to be examining the shattered remains of the pot, but for all I knew he was signaling a hidden buddy of his to snipe me on the spot.

No such things happened. In fact, the ninja seemed pretty wary, and deftly removed the battery from the phone. I winced. There goes the emergency call for help. There was no doubt he had disabled the other phones he had come across.

I wanted to curl up in a fetal position and disappear. My heart was hurting from pumping so hard, and I haven't even gotten to fighting the guy yet! I didn't even know if I had the guts to attack the guy, let alone the strength to not dissolve into hopeless tears.

The ninja froze abruptly, sensing something. My whole body seized up, fearing the worse. He might have heard my breathing, my beating heart, my freaking _thoughts_. I couldn't stop the flow of terrified thoughts from running around in my head, screaming doomsday words and threats of death and defeat in my ear.

Too much? Yeah, well, I'm a little freaked out right now.

Suddenly, the ninja moved. With the speed and dexterity of a viper, he whipped around and slammed the door shut, revealing my ever-so-clever hiding space. I gasped, startled, as the knife made a straight shot for my face. Letting out a strangled cry for help that would never in a million years be heard, I slammed against the wall behind me, slipping on the smooth floor with my socks, and fell flat on my butt.

The knife embedded itself with a muted thud into the wall where I was standing in barely a split second before. The cutlery hummed, still shaking from the impact. I gulped – that could've been my beautiful face impaled with the big, scary knife.

I didn't have a lot of time to cherish my luck and continuation of life. I could only see the ninja's eyes, but it didn't take a genius to realize that he was angry I slipped out – literally – from the hands of death. He jumped for the knife, making to take it back, but I was expecting that. Bringing up my foot, I nailed in in the groin. He choked and faltered.

In that second of weakness, I leaped forward and rammed my shoulder into his gut, sending him back and tumbling over and off my bed on the other side. I felt a glimmer of satisfaction as his head bounced off the corner of my nightstand. That was gonna leave a mark.

The ninja, incapacitated and winded, took his time getting back up. I, for one, ran like my entire existence depended on it.

I flew into the hall and jumped down the stairs, ignoring the going-down-the-steps part and skipping straight to the leaping-off-the-top-with-great-and-utter-abandon part. I landed on the rug below with a thump, bending at the knees and crouching to soften my fall.

I scrambled on the floor, launching myself forward with so much force I nearly did an epic face-plant. My arms pin-wheeled, and I leaned into the wall for support, pushing myself up and away from a broken nose.

I rushed into the kitchen, looking around desperately for a phone. I would, of course, had made straight for the door if I had known there'd be anyone outside to help. But I was all alone in this complex. For all I knew, this guy had a crew of baddies in a Hummer, ready to run me over in case I tried to make an escape.

I picked up the first one I saw, but the cord was cut. There was nothing but a dead air on the other end.

I slammed it back down and began searching for another means of contact. I didn't have my cell phone on me – it was still in my room. Maybe I could go next door and get Casey. He could scare the bejesus out of –

Zing!

The air whistled as a knife flew threw my ponytail and slammed point-first into a picture frame on the table beside the couch. I screamed and ducked for cover as the frame cracked and smashed on the ground. The knife had slit the picture in two, between the image of Chuck and Sarah holding each other. I didn't exactly have a lot of time to admire it before someone hauled me up into the air.

I was frozen with fear as the ninja peered into my face. My arms were limp. The baseball bat was practically slipping through my fingers.

Then the ninja drew out another knife from the folds of his suit. It had a serrated edge.

I began to appropriately freak out.

My arms snapped up, smacking the bat against his knees. He dropped like a dead elephant, taking me with him.

My shoulder took the brunt of the fall. It didn't hurt too much. My mind didn't really dwell on the dull throbbing for very long. There was a ninja in the house and I had a previous engagement to go to. _Nothing_, not even murderers, was going to stop me.

I slammed my foot into his leg as I got up. I made for the front door, but the ninja swung his arm and tripped me. My arms wind-milled and I caught the couch for support, then used to kick him away.

I flipped over the edge of the couch, my knees bouncing on the cushions on the other side. The ninja, wringing his hand, picked up his knife and jumped at me.

I was prepared, but he had feinted. Instead of going straight at me, he dodged to the left, skirted around the arm of the couch and slicing at the air with his blade.

I gasped and fell back, stunned at the edge of the knife nicked my shoulder. When he tackled me, the force of his body sent the couch teetering backwards.

_BANG!_ The couch slammed into the floor and the ninja face planted into the ground a foot from my head. I did an unintentional somersault and stumbled to my feet.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the ninja reaching for something else in his robe. I yelped as a dagger shot from his fingers like a bullet, hopping on one foot as the blade shot past my ankle and ricocheted off the corner of a shelf, then imbedded itself into a window, leaving a spider-web of cracks across the pane.

I jumped over the couch as he snatched the knife he dropped. There was a loud _rrriiippp!_ As the metal sunk into the couch upholstery, tearing the red fabric. Ooo, Chuck's not gonna like that.

I tripped over the coffee table in front of the couch, flopping on my stomach and flipping over the table. Its contents scattered everywhere, leaving a minefield of doodads to slip on as I shot up and raced towards the closest exit I could find.

The door opened immediately underneath my hands. I couldn't remember why I thought it wouldn't, but since ninjas were involved, I figured anything was possible.

The bat was still in my hand as I skidded over to Casey's door. I tried to open it the first time around, but it was obviously locked. With a guy like Casey, I wasn't surprised.

I tried banging on the door and called for help, but he must not have been there, because no one was coming to my rescue.

The ninja was still after me.

I realized this when two large, thick hands wrapped around my throat and whipped me back, away from the door. I could barely scream before he dealt a blow to my head. I saw stars.

His hands tightened around my throat and I could barely think, let alone breath, as he started to choke the life out of me.

I kicked and struggled and screamed (unsuccessfully) for all I was worth. Then I remembered I still had arms.

I brought them up, clapping my hands as hard as I could over his ears.

He cried out and the grip around my throat loosened. I twisted my body, wrenching myself free of the ninja, then brought up my leg, my other acting like a pivot as I swung. My foot cracked against his head.

Any normal person would've collapsed under a blow like that. This ninja, unfortunately, was no normal person. He stumbled and fell back, but only appeared to be a bit dazed. His head must've been made of bricks.

I panicked and swung the bat, but the ninja ducked and lunged at me faster than I could react.

He caught me head on and we crashed into the pavement. But I rolled on my back, the momentum carrying me back up and sending him off of me. He rolled on the ground, like you learned in Fire Awareness Day at school, and did a really cool flip to get back up. I was impressed.

Then I screeched back into the house.

There was no help nearby. I _could_ run screaming into the street, calling for help, but more than likely I'd get a knife in my back.

I slammed the door behind me and used the bat to block it. I didn't know what good it would do, but it was worth a shot.

It took three blows for the ninja to bash his way through the blocked door. Once, only to discover that I'd sabotaged it. Twice, to break through. Three times to punch a fist through the wood and remove the bat, then use the doorknob to open the door from the inside.

As soon as he crossed a threshold, a fry pan slammed him in the face.

I had acted fast. I had no weapon and help was gone. So I had committed the first thing that came to mind.

Raid the kitchen.

I _was_ planning on using one of the many assortment of knives Chuck had here (and let me tell you, there were _a lot_), but I wanted less on the bloodshed and more on a knocked-out criminal. So the frying pan seemed like the obvious choice.

Being the cast-iron frying pan it was, it probably didn't feel to good smashing into your face at 30 miles an hour (it was pretty heavy). The ninja stumbled, and I could clearly see he was going done. For good measure, I whacked it once on the back of his head. The ninja collapsed.

And there I was, frying pan in hand, standing over the comatose body of a ninja.  
I didn't know what to do.

What now? Was the first thought that came through my head. Do I just...go along with my business? Wait for someone to find the body?

Actually, that sounded like a pretty bad idea. I've learned my lesson from crime shows.

I had to try Casey again. But just as soon as I was making through the doorway, I ran smack into something very much like a chest. The chest of John Casey.

_Well, speak of the devil_, I thought. _This guy's psychic!_

Casey had an indecipherable look on his face, like he wasn't sure whether I or the guy on the welcome mat was the real issue.

He raised an eyebrow, took one look at me, one at the ninja, then back at me. He seemed to notice the frying pan in hand.

"I'll take care of him." Casey said, bending down and plucking up the ninja like he wasn't anything more than a itty-bitty kitten. He pointed at me. "You. Clean up."

He was gone before I could say thanks. Or something. As a matter of fact, I wasn't _sure_ what I felt about him. Casey was just...weird.

I wanted to speak up, maybe say something. I'm no cop, but I was pretty sure you let _them_ take care of the criminals, not your scary, stalker-esque neighbor. I was about to go after him when I saw Casey close the blinds in his flat. One look at that menacing face and I immediately retreated back into the apartment. Never mind. I'll just let Casey do his thing.

Whatever that was.

I looked around at the mess. There was no way I could clean all of this up. The hole in the door wasn't going to be easy or quick, so I left that where it was. Maybe I'll leave a note saying they need a new door. I flipped the couch back up on its legs and cleaned up the broken glass. I fixed the table and tried to put back everywhere thing where it was, although I was sure some of the stuff had scattered underneath chairs and stuff. I didn't care. I was wasting time doing this and I had places to go, people to see. This was as good as it was going to get.

I scampered up the stairs and darted into the bathroom. I turned the shower on full blast and took no more than eight minutes to clean myself up. The cut on my shoulder stung, and the several fresh bruises ached, but I ignored them.

I checked the clock in my room almost as soon as I got out – 4:15. Good, I still had time. I glanced out the window, considering what I should wear. Jeans were out of the question – it was too hot out to wear anything below the knee. And, I don't know, I was feeling a little girly today…

Considering I just took out a ninja with a frying pan. I don't know. Did Mom pack me any dresses?

I'm not a big fan of dresses. Okay, granted, I have nothing against them, I just…never find the occasion to wear them. I think the last time I did was on Picture Day in Second Grade. And, well, my grade school years weren't exactly the high time of my life.

My mom must've foreseen this inevitable occurrence because, lo and behold, I saw a dash of red and white plaid in the bottom of my suitcase, and stuck my hand into its depths.

Yanking it out with a little more force than necessary, I found that the dress was in every way what I was looking for. Was it just me, or was Mom the best person in the world?

In fact, it kind of creeped me out. I mean, next to the slightly odd stash of equipment Mom had packed me in the duffle bag, a dress was, well, normal in comparison. Nothing to be freaked out about. But the fact I didn't even _know_ I had this, and that it seemed as though whatever I happened to need, Mom just so happened to have put it in my stuff when I wasn't looking?

I don't know. Maybe Mom has, like, really good foresight or something. That or a time travel machine.

I was guessing the former.

I got ready so fast I even surprised myself. Was I really this excited to meet a boy I hardly even knew? Yes, he's cute. Yes, he's British. But, jeez, that's not exactly a ticket to true love, is it?

Hmm. Maybe I'm just overthinking this. It was a date, just some time to hang out and kind of eliminate the I-don't-know-a-whole-ton-about-him factor. I had hopes for this. To say I was excited to have a boy like me within a couple days of finally living within 50 kilometers of one was an understatement.

I didn't know what to do with my hair, so I zap-fried it with a blow-dryer then snapped it into a bun. Okay, it looked like some rabbit's tangled puffball tail, and I had to use bobby-pins to hold up some weird, awkward strands I'd forgotten. Curly hair was hard to manage.

Taking my skateboard, I was out the door as soon as I slid my feet into the nearest sandals that I could find. They weren't mine, but I wasn't going to wear my dirty, worn-out sneakers. They were probably Sarah's, but it'd be just my luck if they were Morgan's. I couldn't tell, since they were simple and brown. I'd doubted anyone would notice anyways.

I was out the door in minutes, stashing a few dollars in a handy pocket I found in the folds of the dress. Sunlight hit me in the eyes, and I was a little disoriented. It would still be daylight by the time I reached my destination.

I considered taking my bike for, like, two seconds. Then I decided that riding a bike with a dress was a little awkward, and I still had no idea where I was going. Plus, I needed to brush up on my skills, which was made obvious when I nearly toppled after five seconds of gliding on it.

I sighed. Cut, bruises, and now a banged up knee. How perfectly awesome. At least making an excuse for that wouldn't be a complete and total lie. Speaking of which, what _was_ I going to tell Alex, in case he asked?

I didn't know, but I was crossing my fingers, hoping he wouldn't ask.

It was just my luck he did.

He was waiting just where he said he would be, which for every reason left me relieved. I hadn't gotten the address (or for that matter, the time) wrong, and so far nothing disastrous seemed to have occurred. Alex seemed pretty chill, waiting there, like hanging out at the corner of two seemingly lonely streets was completely normal. I don't know. Maybe he did this often. I've only been here for…what…three days? Four? Whatever.

He grinned at me when I approached, wobbling at an unsafe speed on my skateboard. I was seriously rusty on this thing, and apparently the entire oddity didn't go unnoticed. He raised an eyebrow as I skidded to a stop, catching a lamppost to slow me down. I felt embarrassed, looking so…unprofessional, uncool, and really stupid on a skateboard that I thought I knew how to ride."

"You all right?" he asked. I could hear the barely contained laughter in his voice. "You looked like you were about to crash."

I coughed, confused if I should just laugh it off or act mildly insane. "Yeah. I – uh – I kind of haven't been on one of these in a while. Montana and all. Not the safest place for a skateboard. Because the hills and mountains and snow and –"

I realized I was babbling, then blushed as I finished, "Yeah. I guess you get the idea."

Alex was still smiling, so I must've done something right. He shrugged. "No, it's okay. I get what you mean. I just didn't think you'd be the kind of person to skateboard. In a dress. In the evening."

"Oh." I said, then mentally kicked myself for saying something so dull, so stupid. Come on, you can do better than that! "Well, I might've taken my bike, but – wait, did you walk here by yourself?"

It had just occurred to me that he hadn't had his bike, which for some reason I associated with him because that was the last time we had a decent conversation. Well, the first, but still.

"Well, it's not like I need a babysitter." Alex smirked.

I rolled my eyes, then regretted it because it probably made me annoying. "That's not what I meant. Did you, like, _walk_ here?"

"Uh, yeah," Alex jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "My house is a few blocks away."

"Oh." I said again. Seriously, Sam? Use some common sense! And maybe some cleverer lines!

I picked up my skateboard, "So, uh, where are we going?"

"I was thinking the movies," Alex shrugged, smiling. "There's a cinema not too far from here. I know it shows no imagination on my part, but still."

I grinned. "No, it's cool. I didn't even know there was a movie place here. It's a good thing I've got you around, or I'd be, like, well, someone stuck at home with nothing to do."

He laughed at that. Actually laughed. I wasn't sure what he found so funny, but I went with it anyway. Anything to make this not feel as awkward.

"You mind if I try out your skateboard?" he asked.

"Be my guest," I stuck it out to him. "Better you than me."

As it turned out, he was pretty decent. And by decent, I mean he's had a lot more practice on skateboard than I have. Or at least used one recently enough that he didn't run into fences, fire hydrants, or oncoming traffic.

I had to go at a jog to keep up with Alex, who seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself as he pulled a nice Ollie over some trash left in the street. "Show off!"

Alex came to a stop. We had crossed several streets and I was a little stunned to find that there were more people on the streets. A lot of them were around my age, some older. This seemed to be a hotspot for college students and teens who didn't have anything better to do on a Friday night. There were several fast-food restaurants and bowling alleys, including an arcade. It was like we had just wandered into a completely different neighborhood, even though this was less than four blocks from where we started.

Alex pointed. "It's down there. Huge parking lot. You can't miss it."

He was right. As we moved along (people moved aside as a kid on skateboard came through, muttering comments and looks of admiration), there seemed to be a convergence of little kids and adults, and just about everyone in between. I saw preteens gathering in groups of fours and fives. I had to wonder what their parents were thinking, letting them go on alone. If I had ever done something like that at their age, Mom would've killed me. I didn't think kids that young were allowed so much independence.

I was fascinated with this whole…cinema thing. I've never been to a movie before. I've only watched rentals, or sometimes when they showed on TV. There were, of course, illegal films leaked online, but Mom didn't know about that.

I was excited to know what it was like inside a theatre. How big was the screen? The noise level? I mean, I supposed it depended on the movie, the loudness and all that. Were the walls soundproof? It seemed reasonable, because you wouldn't want other movies interfering with the one you're watching. Were the movies really in those funny reels, and not on a disk or something? Like, they shot it out of a machine? Wait, why does that sign say I can't bring any of my own food…?

By the time I was done figuring out how the whole 'cinema' thing worked out, Alex had already gotten the tickets. I guessed I was probably really weird, looking around all curious-like, as if I were some alien from another planet. I saw some people shoot me some raised eyebrows, but I ignored them.

"You ready?" Alex turned to me.

I blinked, focusing back on him. "Yeah."

I paused, then added, "And, um, I've never been to a movie before. Thought you should know."

Alex gave me a bewildered look. "You're kidding, right?"

"What?" I shrugged, feeling a little defensive. "I used to live in a cabin, away from civilization. Any movie theater would be, like, fifty miles away!"

"You've been missing out," Alex shook his head, smiling. "Come on, it's going to start in a couple minutes."

He had grabbed my hand at that and pulled me along. A rush of warmth spread to my face, and it was all I could do to keep acting normal. Alex was holding my hand! And the way he did it so casually, like it wasn't even a big deal – even better! When he asked me if I wanted popcorn, I barely had the breath to say yes.

All in all, this little…um, date (I guess you could call it that), was turning out pretty great.

I thinking so hard about me and Alex together that I hadn't realized we were in the actual theatre when I realized I couldn't see anything and that I was, you know, sitting down. The movie hadn't started yet – what with the silent advertisements with random facts about celebrities that nobody really cared about – and I pinched myself when I realized Alex had been talking to me. And I hadn't realized it.

"Uh, Sam?"

"I'm sorry," I said, blushing, tucking a stray hair behind my ear and playing with the hem of my dress. Stop doing that! You're acting nervous again! Be chill, girl. Be chill. "I completely zoned out. What were you talking about?"

But Alex smiled, forgiving, which I was incredibly thankful for. I told myself not to lose focus again, in case my inattention strained on his patience. I knew it would on mine. "It's okay. I was asking you what you did in Montana if you didn't have movies to go to? I mean, wouldn't you be bored or something?"

"Kind of," I didn't want to explain the advanced homeschooling Mom put me through, because it felt kind of weird and it would probably make me sound like a snobby know-it-all. "But I had TV. You know. And we had movies. Old movies."

"Well, what's wrong with that?"

Some pop-culture references tended to fly over my head, for example, I thought to myself. But I had made it a goal to watch all basics like Star Wars, Harry Potter, Back to the Future, and Pirates of the Caribbean. And maybe Tron, if I could visually muscle past the bad graphics of the 80s. Instead, I said, "Oh, nothing, I guess. I mean, I like them. Well, my mom does. She's a sucker for film noir."

That was the honest truth. Mom couldn't get enough of them.

I was slightly less enthusiastic, to say the least.

"Well, what's your favorite movie so far?"

I shrugged, "I don't know."

"You don't _know_? Not even from the ones you've already seen?"

"Well, it's not a broad spectrum, what I've seen!" I complained, then started counting off my fingers. "I need to watch movies from all sorts of genres to figure out which one is my favorite, then in that category I have to narrow it down and decide which one has best plot, character development, and really good CGI and stuff."

"Oh." Alex sat back, his eyebrows shooting way up. "I didn't know you needed a whole process."

Oh, good. Now I annoyed him with my little rant. Perfect, Sam. Just perfect.

"Are you sure this isn't just an excuse to not tell me what you like?" Alex asked.

I stared at Alex, astounded. Okay, maybe that _was_ one of the reasons, but still – I really just didn't have a wide base of movie experience to create a standard of what I like and don't like.

"Fine," I muttered. "I like Star Wars. I have just totally embarrassed myself in front of you. Happy now?"

Alex cracked up, which must mean I said something funny, and that must mean our hanging out is still running smoothly. That was good, because I was beginning to have worries.

Before our conversation could continue, the movie started. Well, okay, it was advertisements for more movies, but the sheer loudness of the speakers made it hard to have a deep and meaningful conversation. I just sat back and enjoyed my first movie experience.

I liked the movies, I decided. I liked the huge screen, the loud noise, and the salty popcorn.

But in the back of my mind, something was bothering me. How did that ninja figure out where I - er, Chuck - lived? I figured that after I handed in the tape to the police, all this excitement would be over.

This was one crazy remembrance day. If I hadn't known better, I would've thought my dad was behind all of this.

I tried to push it out of my mind. Maybe it was just a wacky coincidence that had nothing to do with me.

But the ugly, curling feeling in my stomach was seriously doubting this.

Maybe I should call the cops, I wondered. Let Officer Borsche know about the attack. Maybe I pissed off that criminal and he hired a hit man to pick me off. How would I know? No one's actually tried to kill me before.

I wanted to focus on the movie, but it was hard. Anxiety was beating at my head and my hands were sweaty. Come on, Samantha! Focus! Mind over matter!  
I pinched myself again and watched the movie, making myself follow the flow of conflict and try to figure out the parts I missed. This was stupid. My little adventure was totally not helping my current situation.

I was relieved when the movie was finally over. I didn't know why, because I enjoyed the parts I managed to understand.  
"So, what did you think?" Alex asked as we left the theatre.

"Um," I had to think fast for a good answer. I didn't know what I thought because I wasn't quite sure if the main character brought on the giant robots himself, or they just threw him in the mess because they needed his help. "It was...really cool. And really loud."

Alex laughed. "Do your ears ring?"

"A bit." I rubbed the back of my head. I blinked several times as we entered the well-lit lobby. Though the windows I could see the sun had set and the street lights were on. "Oh, wow. I'm blind."  
That was when I spotted Officer Borsche through the window and across the street, down a few buildings. To say I was surprised was an understatement - despite how much I wanted to talk to him, I hadn't actually expected to see him again. This was a little odd, but then again, this guy was a cop. He proably got weird calls all the time.

Should I tell him about the ninja? I wondered, beginning to have doubts. Before, I was practically dying to tell him; now, the case was starting to sound ridiculous, and it didn't help that Officer Borsche didn't like me.

But this felt important. If someone was after my life, the police needed to know. Even if they hated me.

Alex was still talking as we headed out the doors. Then he realized I hadn't been paying attention. "Sam, are you okay? You look a little...wired."  
I glanced at my reflection in a window and realized I _did_look freaky. Have I been looking like this the entire time?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Officer Borsche enter a decrepit warehouse. How long would he be inside? What was he doing?

There was a loud ringing that made me jump. But it was only Alex's cell, which he withdrew from his pocket. There was a message on the screen, but I knew better than to look.

Alex, who had been bright and talkative just a second ago, turned grim, which totally threw me off. He didn't look grim-sad, like his sick dog just got worse - more like grim-angry, like he just got a serious call from someone he wasn't too fond of.

"I'm sorry," Alex turned to me, his brow drawn together. "I have to go. Family emergency."

I couldn't believe my luck. Fate must've decided I needed a hand, but I had to force down my relief in case he got the wrong message. I smiled, not too excitedly, and said, "It's okay. I have to do some other things anyway."

Alex relaxed, then asked, "You sure you can get home by yourself?"

"I _got_ here by myself, didn't I?" I grinned, then cupped my hands around my eyes. "I've got super fantastic night vision. I'll be fine, don't worry."  
Alex laughed a little at my joke, then said, "Well, if you say so, I'll be going. See you...later?"

"I think so," I dropped my skateboard on the sidewalk, hopping on and maintaining balance long enough not to fall over as I began to roll away. "We shall meet again, Mr. Bond."  
I don't know what came over me to make me act so goofy. Maybe I just wanted to leave a positive impression on Alex. As far as I could tell, it was working.

Alex smiled and waved as we posted. As soon as he turned around, I hit a bump and toppled.

Excellent timing, skateboard.

He didn't seem to hear my fall, because he didn't turn around to check if I was still alive or not. Which was just fine by me; I was glad to be spared of this moment of embarrassment.  
I got back up and headed towards the police car. By this time, Alex had turned a corner and disappeared from sight.

I stopped there and waited. I was all alone.

xxx

Officer Borsche entered the building, stepping as lightly as he could. The boards creaked obnoxiously under his substantial weight.

He groaned when he heard alarmed words when the illegal residents heard his arrival. There was a great commotion of thunder as men got up and grabbed their weapons. Officer Borsche took his chance to duck behind some old construction equipment, hiding himself from view.

"Come out with your hands up!" he demanded, peeking over the forklift to see if anyone was approaching while he withdrew his gun. "This is the police! We have you surrounded!"

There were shouts of dismay, then a particularly loud voice said, "Dammit, CJ! Parson sold us to the popo!"

Another snarled, "I knew we shouldn't have trusted that bastard!"

Officer Borsche advanced around the corner. With them distracted by their talking, he could sneak up unnoticed. As crafty as dealers may be, they sure were stupid.

The smell of harsh chemicals breached his nose as he slowly drew nearer to the center of the building. Did these guys ever open windows?

Out of the corner of this eye, Officer Borsche saw a flash of movement. Pivoting, he squeezed the trigger as a druggie skirted behind him. The druggie, a skinny shell of a man, dropped exactly like a dead one should.

One down, Borsche thought. Five to go.

The men that were left had scattered; the gunshot have been loud enough to alert everyone within fifty meters of the location, and the echo in the room didn't help. And this was a very big room. Balancing his weight on his toes, the officer moved on.

The next goon to go was hiding in an oil barrel. Borsche had no idea what the idiot was thinking, but didn't bother to ask. There was a sharp cry as the walls of the barrel were pockmarked with half a dozen bullet holes.

He spotted two gang members crouching under a window, looking ready to escape. They jumped when they saw him, raised their arms to point and opened their mouths to speak, but were dead before they could draw breath to shout.

The leader of the gang was found rushing towards the exit, escorted by his bodyguard, who was probably a retired heavyweight by the looks of him. But no amount of muscle in the world could protect him from a bullet to the head.

The gang leader yelped as the gargantuan man fell, his lips opening up to reveal several gold teeth and a couple black ones, too. Rings lined his dirty fingers and multiple chains tinkled and rattled around his neck. He had a chance to speak.

"_You_? All this time, it was _you_?"

He wasn't able to elaborate due to the three bullets in his chest.

Silence rang inside the warehouse. Borsche harrumphed in satisfaction.

There was a beep, then a crackly voice spoke through his radio, "Report."

Officer Borsche pressed a button and relayed, "The druggies have been taken care of, just like you asked."

"Did anyone see you?"

"No."

"Good. And the girl?"

"I don't think she'll be bothering us anymore. Sent a hitman to take care of her. Checked the house and the family hasn't seen her. He must've taken care of the body."  
There was a silence on the other end. Then:

"Excellent. Another job taken care of. Nice work, Parson."

Borsche smiled. "Anything I can do to help, sir."

There seemed to be an odd chill as the uniformed man headed towards the exit. He looked around when he opened the door, making sure no one spotted him. There wasn't a single soul on the block.  
He quickly got into his car and drove off, leaving behind six dead bodies and no witnesses.

Except one.

One single person was left, trembling on top of a high shelf, clutching her skateboard while two men bled out under the window below.


	12. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Ellie _vs. a Liar_

Eleanor Bartowski Woodcomb had just come home from a tense shift of work, things she really did not want to get into, and immediately she knew something was wrong.

The hole in Chuck's door kind of gave it away.

Ellie rushed through the gateway, anxiety gripping her heart as she headed towards her brother's apartment. The one thing that terrified her more than a flat-line during surgery was her family in danger.

"Chuck!" she cried, rushing into the apartment. The door was already open.

Inside, she was horrified to find a dented frying pan on a counter, a heavily cracked coffee table, the couch ripped apart, and Chuck himself holding a broken picture frame. "Oh, my God! What happened?"

Chuck just gave her a bewildered look, about as confused as she was. Sarah was beside him, looking around as if she just stepped into a warzone. Ellie had to admit, there was something about Sarah that intimidated her. Yes, she was beautiful, smart, and perfect for Chuck. But there was always something about her, something that tickled a little in the back of Ellie's mind. Sarah had always been a little bit…off.

Although, in comparison to their neighbor John Casey (and most of the Buy More employees), Sarah was by all means normal.

"Samantha." John Casey said, walking by the door with a giant chest in his arms.

Morgan, too, was there. He seemed to be devastated, although Ellie didn't see any broken games. He was gliding his hand over the smashed table, examining the damage. He gaped at the ruined red couch, "How can one girl do so much _damage_?"

"Wait," Ellie turned around, but Casey had already passed by. She stuck her head out the door and asked, "What happened? Where's Samantha?"

"Dunno," Casey shrugged, heaving the chest onto a shoulder and opening the door to his home. He glanced at her before saying, "Took care of the burglar, though."

"A burglar?" Chuck almost shouted, darting outside. "Casey, what –"

But Casey had already slammed the door shut. There was a click as it locked.

"Hey, what's going on?" Captain Awesome appeared on the scene, a smile on his face. "Is there a party I didn't hear about or something?"

"No, Devon!" Ellie shot him a look. "This is serious! Someone broke into Chuck's apartment and now Samantha's gone."

"What?"

Morgan poked his head out the doorway, holding a finger up. "Let's not forget, Sam likes to go exploring. She's probably just roaming the streets somewhere."

"Without her bicycle?" Ellie asked, frowning. "I don't know. Has anyone checked on her?"

Everyone shook their heads.

"I'm sure she'll be alright," Sarah tried to reassure Ellie with an awkward smile. "Sam's…capable. She won't get herself into trouble."

Ellie sighed. Sarah kind of had a point. Kind of. But she just didn't know Sam well enough to know if this was true or not. But Sam had shown herself to be mildly responsible. She wouldn't purposefully hurt herself. "Did you call the police? Was anything taken?"

"Yes and no." Chuck shrugged. "Nothing seems to be missing. Casey took care of the cops."

"I wonder why someone would break into here," Ellie ran a hand through her hair, going back inside to take another look. It wasn't that she didn't think Chuck and Morgan's things were worthless. She just didn't think they'd be worth…stealing. Even the TV and stereo would be too big to haul off with in one go. "Do you think there was a fight? I hope Sam's okay."

"From the looks of it," Morgan picked up the frying pan from the sink, rubbing his chin as he peered at the dent. "Sam handled it pretty well."

That was a thought Ellie didn't really want to think about. Burbank was as crazy as it could get. A dysfunctional family made it worse. Now robberies and assault? Ellie was almost afraid she'd have to send Sam back because it was too dangerous here for her. "Oh, what is Clary going to say when she hears this?"

"Hey," Chuck put a hand on her shoulder. "She doesn't have to know. So long as Sam isn't hurt and we clean up this place, it'll be like nothing happened."

"I don't know," Ellie sighed, rubbing her eyes. Her shift left her tired – maybe she was overreacting. Nothing was stolen and no one was hurt. Nothing to fear. "I think I'm going to take a nap."

And that's what she eventually did. Or, at least, tried to. But nagging thoughts kept her awake. The more time that passed, the more worried she got. Sam had yet to return.

The sky got darker. It began to rain.

Ellie couldn't stand it anymore. She needed to do something.

Cooking dinner was the only thing that distracted her. Devon helped, keeping up a rather one-sided conversation. Ellie didn't mind. It helped her to relax.

They ate dinner, but there was still no word from Sam. It wasn't until she was loading the dishwasher when she noticed something outside her window. Ellie was stunned to see Sam climbing the fire escape and sneak in through an unlocked window. She was soaked and, oddly, carting a skateboard. Where had she gotten that?

Chuck and Sarah had left on a date, leaving no one at home to see Sam's entrance. But Ellie wasn't going to let her get away with it. Opening the door and darting across the yard, she ducked into the other apartment. Morgan was passed out on the still ruined sofa. He didn't wake when she entered.

Ellie wondered why Sam was acting so strangely. Why would she go through a window? Everyone already knew she had been gone. What was she trying to hide?

She went up the stairs, not even trying to muffle her steps. _She_ had nothing to hide.

Sam was in the bathroom, twisting copious amounts of water from her hair and into the sink. She looked up as Ellie walked in with her arms crossed.

"Hi," Sam said, as if this conversation were completely normal. "What're you doing here?"

"Just making sure you're okay," Ellie said, forcing herself to keep her cool. Don't blurt anything stupid. Don't freak out Sam. "You _are_ okay, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Sam smiled as she took a towel from the hanger and started to pat her head down. Her hair was frizzy from the rain. "I was just cruising around the city. You know, find my bearings? I didn't know it was going to rain. But it's okay, though."

"Then why did you sneak into the house through a window?"

Sam froze. Ellie watched in grim satisfaction as her face paled. She struggled for an answer but couldn't seem to speak.

"You didn't want to get into trouble for the mess downstairs, huh?" Ellie guessed, raising an eyebrow.

Sam flushed, but another emotion flashed across her face. It went by so quick, Ellie almost didn't catch it. "Okay, you got me. I didn't know what to do, I kind of just…left."

"You ran away?"

"Well…yeah. I guess. I mean, I don't know." Sam stuttered, biting her lip. She didn't add anything else.

Ellie sighed, wondering if it was hard to get _anyone_ to talk, or just her family. "Look, Sam, is there something you want to talk about?"

"Um, not really," Sam shook her head, a finger twisting around a strange of hair. Her freckles stood out in the stark lighting of the room. Or maybe she was just pale.  
Ellie realized she was wearing a dress, which was pretty strange for someone who wanted to practice on a skateboard. What in the world was this girl thinking?

"Well, I just want you to know that if you need anything, I'm always here for you," Ellie tried, hoping that at least once she said that, Sam would eventually tell her. It usually worked for Chuck. A little kindness goes a long way. "All right?"

"Thanks," Sam smiled, and Ellie finally noticed that there was a cut on her shoulder, several bruises on her arms and legs, and patches of dirt on her knees. Her feet were muddy, as well as the sandals she wore. Were those Morgan's?

"H-how long have you had those bruises?" Ellie blurted without thinking. What in the world had Sam been doing out there? Fighting crime? "Did you get into a fight?"

"I was trying out my skateboard," Sam admitted, blushing again. "Turns out I'm a little rusty."

"Well, come on, then," Now this was something Ellie could handle. What kind of crazy kid went skateboarding in the rain? _And_ in a dress? She took hold of Sam's arm and pulled out, taking her to the kitchen. "I'll patch you up."

"That's really not necessary –" Sam tried, but Ellie interrupted.

"Are you kidding? Chuck used to get hurt all the time. I've got supplies in the closet. Here, sit at the table so we can make sure that cut isn't infected."

Sam muttered something under her breath but Ellie pretended not to hear. Really, Ellie was grabbing at any chance to bond with her cousin. Family was always important. And a young girl in a strange city surrounded by strange people? The more support she had, the better.

Ellie would know.

As she took the first aid box out of the closet, she heard the TV turn on. When she returned, she saw that Sam was watching the news with surprising intensity. It was something about a homicide in an old warehouse. Ellie didn't know why Sam would be so interested in the story, but she supposed every teenager needed a little excitement.

Sam winced when Ellie dabbed her shoulder with the alcohol wipe, but didn't complain. She was chewing on her lip again, making the cut bleed. She didn't seem to notice.

The wound on her shoulder wasn't very deep, but Ellie hadn't a clue as to where Sam got it. It was too fine to be from branches or thorns, but to clean to be from wire or, well, anything else in the wild.

"So," Ellie spoke up. Sam jumped at her voice. "How did you get these cuts?"

"Fell down," Sam said, still watching the TV. "Into a, ah, fence."

Ellie knew immediately that Sam was lying. But why would she lie? "Tell me the truth, Sam. I'm not a sucker like Morgan."

Sam flushed a brilliant shade of red, then muttered, "The guy. The guy that broke into here."

"Sam!" Ellie exclaimed, slamming her hand down on the table with much more force than she intended. "I was just joking when I asked, but honestly! What were you _thinking_?"

"I tried to hide!" Sam protested, turning around to look at her. "Really, I did! But…I-I knocked something over and he heard me. I just did my best to, like, not die!"

"And you didn't think to call 9-1-1?" Ellie demanded.

But Sam shook her head, replying, "He cut the phone lines."

So _that's _why Ellie kept getting voicemail.

"Wait," Ellie held up her hand, a little overwhelmed by what she was hearing. "You're telling me a burglar cut the phone lines to a house he was stealing from? Why would he do that?"

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "How would I know? It's not like I asked."

"Besides," she added as an afterthought. "How'd you think I made the mess anyways?"

Ellie realized she had a point. Yes, she _knew_ Sam had made the mess. It hadn't occured to her as to how it happened, though.

"Well, I certainly didn't think you'd be stupid enough to fight him," Ellie countered, not letting the matter drop easily. "Sam, how are we supposed to keep you safe if you're always jumping into danger like that?"

"Keep me safe?" Sam stared at her, looking offended. "I can take care of myself!"

"Yes. The bruises didn't come from that, did they?"

Ellie didn't know what made her so sarcastic. It usually wasn't like her to act so irritated, especially with someone she didn't know too well. Maybe it was the constant worry that set her on edge, or Sam's recklessness, or the fact that she just really needed a nap.

Sam was giving Ellie a strange look, her mouth slightly agape. Apparently Ellie wasn't the only one caught off-guard by her sarcasm.

"Sam, let's be honest," Ellie continued. "You got into a fight with a burglar and then ran off to skateboard in a dress? Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

"I don't know," Sam whispered, looking away. "I didn't know what to do. I was scared."

Ellie had finished cleaning the cut. As she wrapped a thin bandage around it, she said, "I know, sweetie. There are times when the answers aren't always obvious. Next time, just take a step back to look at the problem. The answer's there, you just need to look."

Sam was silent for a moment. Then she smiled and said, "Yeah, I guess you're right. Thanks."

Ellie was a little surprised that Sam had agreed to easily, although it may have been because she didn't want to continue the argument. She checked the rest of Sam, just in case she was hiding something, like a broken bone. But she seemed perfectly fine.

Ellie had just gotten up when she got a whiff of Sam's hair. It was still pretty wet, and for a second she almost thought she imagined it. But no, it was there. The faint scent of chemicals and...something burnt? And popcorn?

That was odd. "Sam, where exactly did you go?"

"What do you mean? I was just, you know, going around town. I got something to eat at a diner, but that's it."

Oh. That explained it.

"You had enough money?"

"What? Oh, yeah. I did."

"Where did you get it?"

Samantha blinked. "Mom gave it to me."

"I assume she also gave you that skateboard."

"No, I had it. I just haven't been using it much until now."

"Huh," Ellie said as she picked up the first aid kit and put it back into the closet. "And I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for the dress."

"Of course there is." Sam said with a straight face, but she didn't elaborate.

Ellie turned to her, hands on hips. "Sam, is there something I should know about?"

"Um," Sam paused for a second, thinking. Then she shook her head and replied, "Nope. Everything's cool."

Ellie didn't believe her but decided that after all that grilling, Sam would be reluctant to say anything more. Besides, how could Sam ever learn to trust her if Ellie was  
always asking questions? She would think that Ellie didn't think she could take care of herself.

Which Ellie didn't, by the way. But that was beside the point. "Fine, if you say so. But can you promise me that you won't get into any more trouble? I really don't want to feel like I have to ground you if that's the only way you'll stay safe."

Sam pulled an awkward smile. "I promise I'll be more careful."

Ellie raised an eyebrow.

She blushed, "And to not get in more trouble. But, um…"

"What is it?" Ellie glanced at Samantha, wondering what that strange look on her face meant. Chuck always had a similar look whenever her was about to admit something bad. A feeling of dread stirred in her chest.

"You don't happen to have any scuba gear, do you?"

Ellie stared, completely taken aback. It was certainly not the direction she expected the conversation to go, never mind what it had anything to do with it. "Uh, yeah, we store it in the shed. W-why do you ask?"

"Oh, I don't know," Sam shrugged. "Just wondering."

"Oh…kay." Ellie replied, frowning. "So, if I leave this house, you won't decide to go off on your own into trouble?"

"Um, yeah," Sam replied. "I'll remember to bring a chaperone next time."

Ellie gave her a look.

Sam smiled, shrugging her shoulders as she said, "Hey, I'm joking!"

Ellie shook her head. The one cousin she has, and she's a goofball who doesn't know she's in trouble until she's knee deep in it. Ellie was positive she was never this reckless at Sam's age. For someone who's lived in multiple places across the US, one would think Sam would have better common sense.

oOo

I couldn't wait until Ellie left for me to continue my search. It wasn't that I needed her gone, it was just better that she didn't catch me looking up recent murders in the area on Google. I mean, it's not like I would be obligated to tell her _why_, but it would sure raise a few eyebrows.

I went up to my room as soon as I was alone. Morgan was comatose on the couch when I turned off the TV, fetching a bowl of chips to snack on. Sitting at my desk in my room, I turned on my laptop, thinking as I waited for it to reboot. Why did Borsche kill those guys? Was he really part of the police and were there more guys like him on the force? It was scary to think about. I couldn't trust them on the off chance Borsche (or whatever his real name was) would find out. I mean, what if _he_ tried to kill _me_?

And where had that ninja come from? I wanted to believe that he was just trying to steal something, but something in the back of my mind that no burglar attacks his victims with knives and destroys the things he could've been stealing. He acted like a guy set on killing, not a simple B and E.

There was something I was missing.

Something must've happened right after I called Borsche about the security footage and the teapot thing. There was a message inside, but someone had already picked it up. But who? And when?

I frowned. I could always try to peek at the other tapes, see what's happened in three days. But how long would that take? Would I even have enough time? I wasn't even sure I wanted to risk getting caught again.

There was a ding and I logged onto the Internet. The search itself was very quick – just the word Dillinger gave me over two dozen news (and conspiracy) websites from years ago to today. There wasn't a lot of progress, as far as I could tell. I didn't expect there to be any – besides, progress wasn't what I was looking for.

I clicked on a link to a local newspaper. The information looked promising, so I took time to skim the words:

_Photographer George Hennessey disappeared 3 days after the death of actor Henry Dillinger. Around the same time, Dillinger's prize yacht was stolen – after a month of search, it still hasn't been found. Police are not sure if this is related to the strong of stolen boats, over the past five years. Recently, the police discovered some photos by Hennessey of Dillinger and an unidentified man. They now believe the two cases are connected._

Whoa. I hadn't thought of that.

Could that boat thing be connected? Before I thought they were just two weird coincidences, but now – could that boat speeding into the rock wall have something to do with Dillinger? What if…no, that would be crazy…

What if they had, like, a hidden cave in that cliff? With walls that opened up?

It sounded ridiculous, even now. Just something you'd see in a movie. But what if – _what if_ - I was onto something?

Well, one thing was for sure : I couldn't trust the police. I couldn't trust anyone.

**Chapter 12: Sam vs The Bug Spray**

**I've decided that I'm only going to focus on one fanfic at a time, because I really want to get them finished. It'll give me more time to focus and start uploading more chapters. Since Californian Summer is half-way done, I'm going to finish it, then move on to the other ones, until I'm done =)**

**Read and Review!**


	13. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Sam _vs. The Bug Spray_

The first thing I did the next morning was grab a sandwich.

Along with the mountain gear Mom coincidentally happened to put in my bag, I stuffed in some of the scuba gear I found in Awesome's shed. I think the pair of equipment I took was Ellie's, but it was still a little big for me. I decided to go with it – I had to use what I could get, and this was the best I could find. Besides, she had almost a full tank of air. I was all set to go.

Finding that cliff, on the other hand, took a lot of time. I remembered where I went to find that special memorial spot, but that cliff had to be farther up the hill. I didn't like the idea of sneaking onto someone's property again, but I preferred it over trudging through some tropical woods. What kind of animals did they have here, anyways? I didn't know if bears lived under palm trees, but I decided not to take that chance.

I crawled through the hole under the fence I had found the other day, getting muddy in the process – It had been filled with water from the night before. I made my way up by ducking behind well-trimmed bushes and cars, darting to and fro from one house to another, until I scaled another brick wall and found myself on some sort of nature trail, away from the nice homes. I guess there was some sort of park here. Well, that would've been nice to know about, oh I don't know, _before_ I found it on accident?

It left me frustrated, but that frustration dissipated as soon as I found the cliff I was looking for. I could hear the waterfall a little ways away, so I had to be in the right place. I was blocked off from any hikers by some overhanging branches. A couple bikers whisked by, and I froze in my spot, hoping they wouldn't notice me.

I looked over the edge of the precipice and immediately regretted it. My stomach seemed to drop and my throat dried up pretty quick. I ducked away fast, trying not to think about how much it would hurt if I fell. It had to be at the very least a ten story drop, if not more. I took deep breaths to calm myself, then began to work. I took the bottle of suntan lotion and covered myself before I slipped into a harness.

I felt a little bit better when scaling down a cliff wall with a helmet and harness, although a very small amount. The part of me that wasn't scared was absolutely exhilarated. I'd had never done this before, and the fact that I was doing it right – and not dying – without anyone's (and especially not an adult's) help was an amazing feeling.

My rope wasn't long enough, but the end was close enough to the water that if I decided to jump, I'd be okay. It might've been forty feet, but it seemed doable. I just hoped the scuba gear would make it.

I examined the cliff wall, wondering if there was a split where the walls would open, but from what I could tell, it was genuine, uninterrupted rock that hasn't been touched by humans in a while. I looked down, near the water. At first, I was disappointed, because it just seemed to go down farther, until I noticed something odd. Right below me, maybe a couple feet under the water's surface, was a dark patch. I couldn't tell what it was from this angle, but there didn't seem to be anything like it anywhere else. Was this what I was looking for?

I judged the distance, making quick plans in my head. I'd have to go back up, put on the gear, and go back down. As I pulled myself back up, my thoughts wandered. This reminded me of those people who did this kind of thing for fun. Who, heck, _slept_ on the cliffs! I may love adventure, but at least I had limits. Sleeping over thin air on a sheet was, well, a little beyond me.

I pulled myself over the ledge, my heart thumping. I wanted to take a breather, but I didn't want to waste time. It was already noon – I had finished my sandwich under a truck in the gated neighborhood – and I didn't know how long it was going to take me to get back in the water, look for an opening, and maybe get to the other side.

I was glad I didn't have to borrow Ellie's wetsuit. I would've been too small – she had to be at least a three inches taller than me. I frowned to myself. When was _my_ growth spurt going to happen, like Mom promised?

The wet suit stuck to me like another skin. It was too tight around the neck, but all the better, I supposed. At least it would keep me from getting too cold.

I had to ask myself if I had any last words, and regrets as I went down again, in case I died. Well, I answered myself, not really. I hadn't done anything yet worth moping over, although I did supposed I'd like to see Alex one more time. And Mom. And, yeah, Dad, if he was still around somewhere. But other than that, I didn't really have much to whine about.

I sighed. In that case, I might as well get a move on.

When I slipped free of the rope, my heart almost came to a stop. I remembered to bring my hand to my face to keep the mask from getting loose, and keep my legs straight when I hit the water, and the excitement of the rush of air didn't prepare me for the final splashdown.

As soon as my head went under, I sucked in a great gulp of air. The tank jerked back and down, the straps digging into my skin and pulling me down faster than I could adapt. I kicked with my feet, the flippers helping me up. I kept moving until I righted myself, then checked to make sure I had everything. My bag, which was waterproof, was stuffed underneath the tank. It felt weightless right then, but maybe I was too busy concentrating on the tank to notice it.

The lack of sound was startling, too. Above ground, everything was loud and noisy, either with the sound of traffic and people noises, or bird and animal calls mixed in with the ocean waves and wind rushing through the trees. Now, in the smothered silence of the water, where the only thing I could hear were the tickling bubbles from my mouth, it was…serene.

As soon as I deemed myself okay, I began to looked around. The floor of the water was so deep I couldn't see it, and I almost wanted to go down there to see if there was something there, but I chose not to. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the dark shape I had seen from the cliff. Swimming closer, I realized what it was.

A giant tunnel.

I was so awed that I forgot to breath, and then remembered to, a big gust of bubbles exploding in my face. I took another look, still equally as stunned. It had to be at least fifty feet across, almost a seventy tall.

This had to be what the boat had gone into. When the water level lowers, there'd be enough air for it to get through.

Turning on the flashlights attached to my mask, I entered it, my heart thumping so hard I could feel the wetsuit moving. The water go considerably colder as soon as I left the sunlit waters and into the empty oblivion of the cave. It was so dark I considered going back, but no – I had made it this far, I wasn't going back now.

I steeled my nerves and continued. I kept moving my head, so the flashlights could scan the area ahead of me. They didn't go very far, three yards total, but I didn't come across any hazards. The darkness continued deep, and I had no choice but to follow it.

It had to be at least fifteen minutes in when I started to worry if I was just getting lost in a series of tunnels or something. I didn't come across any, but that may have been because my light didn't travel far enough to tell. A dread curled around my chest, a doubt that almost made me skittish and wish for home. This was getting scary, and the unknowns were getting a lot bigger than the actual knowns.

But there had to be something here, I told myself. That boat didn't just disappear. It came into _here_. Just keep going for another couple minutes!

I was mostly afraid of going too deep because I wasn't sure I'd have enough air coming back. But I checked my gauge and discovered I hadn't even gone half yet. Taking in another lungful of air to clear my head, I forced myself to go forward.

Just before I convinced myself that I really _was_ going nowhere, I noticed something. The bottom of the tunnel had come awfully close to me, while the ceiling shot way up. I had to stop swimming for a second, confused. Had I been swimming down without noticing?

But I wasn't. I kept going forward, keeping myself at the same level and discovered – shockingly – that the tunnel was going _up_. My heart sped up again – maybe I was close! Maybe there was some sort of air pocket up there!

I kicked my legs harder and followed the tunnel. It led up, gradually, but I could feel the pressure change. Another five minutes, and I saw the water flattened out above me, the ceiling no longer under water. I reached up to touch the air, but it was barely an inch. The deeper I got, however, the bigger the space grew. Then, suddenly, the ceiling disappeared entirely.

I stopped short, bubbles whisking by my face. I could suddenly see again, and without the aid of my flashlights. I turned them off, then slowly drifted towards the surface.

I almost gasped when I saw all the boats.

I stopped myself when I saw the men with guns.

Without a second thought, I immediately dunked back underwater, breathing into the mouthpiece again. Where was I? In some sort of underwater cave? Deep inside a cliff? And look at all those boats! This was amazing! There had to be at least twenty of them! Wait – were these the stolen yachts that news article was talking about?

I had to force myself to take even breaths – I was hyperventilating underwater! The last thing I needed was men with guns shooting at a bunch of bubbles.

I made my way slowly, careful not to breath too deeply in case the trail of bubbles gave away my position.

I didn't know what I was looking for. All a lot of the boats were yachts, but there were some sailboats and a sloop, too. Above me, industrial lights from metal catwalks hung overhead. Someone had been hiding in here for a while, and decided to deck the place out. Was there more than one way out of here, or did these guys have to wait for low tide to go out for bowling night? It seemed inconvenient and rather dangerous, but the cave looked too big to be flooded completely.

I had to wonder – was this natural, or did someone carve it out? And how desperate would you have to be to search for a place like this?

I came across Dillinger's boat entirely by accident. I was just looking around, wishing I had brought a water-proof camera, when I came across the _Esmeralda_. I didn't remember the name so much as the boat. I'd seen it on the news, and on the internet article – the yacht was a brilliant green, with gold cursive of the name and the words _Marina Del Ray_ underneath it. I guess when you're a billion dollar, a-list actor, you can color your yachts any way you want.

The boat was beyond a doubt beautiful, even for a boat-neutral girl like me, who never really cared about this kind of stuff. Even after a year of being stolen, it still look pristine. There wasn't a speck of grime, like whoever stole this saw the treasure for what it was and decided it was worth the cost of keeping it in good shape.

Since this was the boat related to the murder, I decided it was my best shot for finding – I dunno – evidence of the murder, maybe that even photographer guy. If he was still alive.

I had to swim around it a couple times before I found a ladder. I waited until the guards were all out of sight before climbing up, the water and the tank weighing me down. A guard passed above, and I ducked underneath a nearby bench, waiting until he passed.

I couldn't believe I was doing this. It was so dangerous, way more than witnessing a homicide or fighting an assassin or talking to cute boys – I had to wait there to calm myself. One wrong move and I'd be full of bullets.

I quickly slipped out of the straps of the tank, but kept the water-proof bag as I slipped out from underneath the seats. Despite the beauty of the boat, there were a ton of crates on it. Fine by me, since it provided plenty of cover. Ducking into a row, I examined the text that was stamped onto the wood.

PRIVATE GOODS – 15 LBS

SENT TO: HENRY DILLINGER

Ha! Evidence!

The wood was old and splintery. I took an unstacked box on the ground, looked around for any more guards, then started to pry off the top. It was nailed on, but at least they were straight. With a little pushing and tugging, the wood smoothly came off. As soon as the cover was lifted free, I was hit by a colossal stench.

I gasped, my eyes watering as the smell stung my eyes. I shook my head, leaning back. The smell made me feel dizzy and almost knocked me off my feet. It was awful and strangely tempting at the same time. What _was_ that smell?

It wasn't until I looked in did I understand.

Dillinger is a drug dealer. Or was, until he died.

And damn, was he loaded!

I wasn't familiar with all the different types of drugs or any of their wacko names, but I'd be stupid not to realize what this was. Even though they were sealed in airtight bags, the smell was still overwhelming. I only glanced at the shriveled green weed before putting the cover back, wiping away at my eyes and hoping that clean air would return to my lungs.

I opened my bag, looking for something that I could carry some of that stuff with. I wasn't liking the idea – on the off chance that I was caught, they'd think the drugs would be _mine_, not something I found on a stolen yacht in a giant cave with a bunch of other yachts owned by some unknown guy and guarded by big guys with big guns. Yeah, totally understandable.

But I didn't have anything safe to put it in and for a second I felt relieved. It would be less incriminating evidence on my part, but at least I had something to look for in case I had to come back.

I was just about to close my bag when someone yelled, "Hey, you!"

I jumped, pivoting on the spot to see a big hulk of a guard come charging towards me. He had be by the neck before I could react.

I gasped for air. This wasn't how I expected this to go _at all_. Was he going to kill me? Shoot me with his gun? Drown me?

"Who are you?" the guard demanded, his ugly face even uglier with that hideous scowl. "Who do you work for? Tell me!"

Who do I work for? I was just a kid! Who did he _think_ I worked for?

He let go of me, reaching for his gun. I didn't waste a second – As soon as I hit the ground, I swept my legs behind his knee, knocking him over. He cried out, hitting the deck with an audible thump. I reached into my bag, scrambling for the bug spray. As soon as I had it, I whipped it at him. If I couldn't block his gun shots, the least I could do was blind him.

But when my finger pressed down on the nozzle and the spray came out, the man didn't cry out. No, in fact, he didn't do anything at all. He gaped at me, frozen in shock, before his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he fell back, unconscious.

Well, I definitely wasn't expecting that, either.

I wasn't sure what to do. I meant to distract the guard, not knock him out! I didn't think bug spray could do that – I was pretty sure it didn't! What _was_ this stuff?

I couldn't hang around, not when I could hear the other guards shouting. I had been discovered and I needed to go back in the water, where I was safe. I wasn't prepared for guns. I wasn't prepared for any of this!

I grabbed my bag, stuffed the can back inside, and zipped it up as I sprinted back to the bench. Ducking underneath, I gasped as a bullet zipped by my shoulder and the back of the bench exploded. I shrugged the tank on as quickly as possible, making sure everything was tied on correctly; or as correctly as I could get it with trembling fingers and freaking out with the idea of being shot at.

I waited five seconds after I was done before I darted out from underneath, ducked a punch from an oncoming guard that I hadn't heard approach, then trip backwards over the edge of the boat and into the water.

There was a huge splash, a hurricane of bubbles, and the sound of a hornets in the air. I let the tank pull me down, struggling for my mouthpiece but not yet putting it in my mouth. I kicked and forced myself under the boat, into shadow. I held my breath for twenty seconds, then stuffed in the mouthpiece, taking in air. I fix my mask so it didn't leak water, and I was about to put on the flashlight when I decided against it at the last moment.

I had to keep myself breathing. They couldn't get me under here, so long as I kept close to the hull. I counted to thirty, trying to calculate where the guards were and where they were shooting at. I checked my gauge again, but I couldn't see it under the boat. I glanced out from under the boat, then sunk a little deeper. I took a deep breath, held it, then released, shooting off as the bubbles rose to the top.

Bullets pierced the water behind me. I kicked harder, releasing another breath of air. My depth gave me more time to get away. I was already at the tunnel when I glanced behind me, glancing through the watery surface as guards rushed off. At first, I thought they were going to use the boats, then I remembered they couldn't follow me this way. Smiling to myself (or as much as I could with the mouthpiece), I ducked into the tunnel and swam as fast as I could into the darkness.

The travel went a lot faster when I knew where I was going. It was maybe ten minutes for I saw the light at the other end. My heart skipped with excitement. I was out! I was almost out!

I rushed towards the surface, smiling in victory. That smile quickly faded, however, when I heard the loud hum of an engine and looked to the left to see a speedboat coming towards me, filled with three very angry, very much armed guys in black. I gasped. How did they get out so quickly? And where?

I ducked back underwater, flipping over as the boat shot above me. I gulped in a gallon of water before I grabbed the mouthpiece and could breathe air again. Choking, I went down, feeling as bullets pierced the water above my head. Going deeper, I kicked and headed right, towards a beach I had seen from atop the cliff. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as the speedboat scanned the waters, shooting various areas. I tried to get away from as fast as possible, but flippers could only take me so far.

The boat, inexplicably, seemed to be following me, although its movements were so random it had to be sheer coincidence. I winced, wishing that my luck could do me some credit. I jolted when my knees hit sand, then looking around quickly for somewhere to hide. I was still underwater, but I was too high to hide.

I had come across a corner of the beach, where the brush leaned in to the ocean. Nearby, people laughed and played. I waited until the speedboat's occupants weren't looking my way when I hauled myself out of the water and dived (un-ironically) into some bushes with huge leaves. It wasn't a lot of cover (there were plenty of holes), but this was no time to be picky. I shed the tank, flippers, goggles, and wetsuit as quickly as possible, then ripped open my bag and pulled on my normal clothes. My bathing suit was wet from the dip, and it felt weird putting on dry clothes, but I had no choice. I had to leave my bag behind as well, but took the skateboard out. I couldn't use it now, but if I came onto a clear street, I'd have a chance.

Kicking the swim stuff behind a tree and hoping that would do, I rushed up the sandy hill. I heard a distant, angry shout behind me. I didn't have time to button my shirt before I started running for my life.

I was thankful for whatever head start I had, although it was kind of ineffective as soon as I had to dart between people and traffic. The men were already on the beach by the time I got to the streets. They had ditched the big guns, but I'd be damned if they were armed with knives or pistols. Or both.

I pushed aside a guy with a camera, looking around. I didn't know where I was.

I had no plan.

I had no tools.

I had no help.

Oh, man. I was in trouble.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

Sam _vs. The Skateboard_

I was surrounded by people on all sides. The smell of fresh food wafted to my nose. A smooth breeze chilled my wet skin.

I glanced behind me to see the guards clambering off the boat and into the sand, then charging up to the market. Panicked, I threw myself deeper into the crowd.

I started to run. I wished I had had enough time to put on some shoes, but it was too late now. I felt every pebble and rock on the tarmac as I ducked and weaved. Several people shouted at me and more made some very rude gestures. I ignored them and surged forward, knowing I was losing ground.

I made a sharp turn and tripped over someone's foot. My knee hit the ground and I splayed my arms forward to catch myself. There was a sharp pain in my palms, but I made myself forget it by pushing off and running again.

I gasped as a thick hand landed on my shoulder. I whipped around, terrified to see one of the guards glaring back at me. Acting on impulse, I swung my arm to punch him, but forgot I still had my skateboard in hand. There was a loud _CRACK! _and the man went down.

The people around me cried out when the man fell but I wasn't feeling very sympathetic right then. The other three men behind him were gaining on me. I turned around again, brushed off a bystanders grasp to stop me, and went into a headlong sprint.

I was going so fast that the sharp stuff that I was probably stepping on wasn't even registering. The wind whipped my hair, sending drops of water everywhere and drying my skin.

I was breathing so hard. No matter how hard I ran, it felt like I was going slower.

I crossed a road and almost collided with some cyclists, but they swerved around me at the last second, yelling at me for being stupid or something. I kept going, and heard the sound of an unfortunately large man getting run over by someone on a bike. I smiled and pumped my legs harder.

The market veered away from the beach and the sound of waves faded from my ears. I was now going full-tilt down a wide cobblestone path, filled with people and little shops on either side of me. There were no cars here, which was just fine by me.

My legs smacked against shopping bags and purses as I navigated my way through the crowd. Before I had a chance to avoid it, a man came into my path, pushing a large dolly full of boxes.

I managed to sidestep it, but my shoulder smashed into the side, sending the dolly's contents flying. The man shouted at me as I passed but I was pleased with myself. With the guards so close on my tail, maybe that obstacle would slow them down just a little bit.

I vaulted over a baby carriage and found myself at an intersection. I looked around quickly, breathing so hard it was difficult to think.

Then I saw a group of tourists in front of a café. I raced over to them and meshed with the crowd, hoping that the guards wouldn't notice me hiding amongst a group of people.

Unfortunately, the tourist group had already begun to move, and I wasn't dressed like they were. I'd be spotted instantly. Instead, I sat down at one of the little round tables in front of the shop and picked up an abandoned newspaper.

It was really stupid, I know. I've seen it done in cartoons so many times it was ridiculous. But when two hulking shadows raced past me, I couldn't believe it. I was just about to jump up and run the other way when someone else stepped in front of me.

I looked up, shocked. It was the guard that I had hit with the skateboard. And, um, the bruise did not compliment his livid physique. At all.

He swung a fist at me and I yelped, falling backwards and rolled out of the chair in a weird somersault. I got back to my feet, turned around to the store and charged inside. I leapt over the counter (the guy at the cashier was limber enough to duck), and smashed into the door behind it.

The smell of cooking oil and something roasting filled my noise. Immediately, I found myself surrounded by chefs, waiters, and _a lot_ of food.

Okay, so maybe this wasn't the best idea.

The occupants didn't even realize I was there until the other two guards came bursting in. I looked around quickly, running as quickly as I could around white-clad men and women armed with cleavers and other really long, sharp utensils.

The heat in the kitchen was astounding. If I wasn't sweating before, I was _really_ sweating now. Chefs and waiters were already yelling without our intrusion. It was total chaos as I limbo-ed under the loaded arms of a really tall waitress. When our presence was noted, the sound level escalated.

I felt another big hand wrap around me arm. I panicked and grabbed the first thing in front of me: a wrought-iron pan filled with sizzling onions and oil. I swung it off the burner and into my attackers face.

In retrospect, I was thankful I got the guard and not the chef, who really was the one who stopped me. The chef, who was rotund with a messy, sweaty face, glared down at me.

I pointed behind me, at the two un-subdued guards (the one with face full of burning onions had fallen to the floor, but no one seemed to notice, thank gosh), "I liked your shrimp, but they said it tasted like crap!"

The chef's face deepened to a very dark shade of red. He turned around, fuming, onto the remained guards. For once, their faces changed from their seemingly perpetual fury and into utter bewilderment when the chef started shouting profanities at them. I had just turned around when said chef slammed a pie into each of their faces.

I jumped over a guy opening an oven and careened out the back door and into an alley. I took a quick look around before running the back way, into another street.

But just as I was about to enter the street, a giant figure stepped into my way. I slammed headfirst into the very solid chest and bounced back onto the cracked tarmac. I gulped in air, my heart slamming so hard into my chest it hurt. I looked up at the menacing man. He must've double-backed to catch me.

He leered down at me, cracking his knuckles, then his neck. I winced each time, trying to scramble back, but the blooming headache and stars in front of my eyes kind of made it hard to do anything other than just sit there like a bump on a log.

I forced myself back into the alley. The man took a menacing step forward, then another. Then I remembered I still had the skateboard in hand. As his foot came down, I pushed it forward. It rolled underneath him, and as his boot came down, it kept going. He shouted ("Hey!"), then toppled forward into a heavy face-plant.

The ground shook when he landed, the skateboard shooting out from underneath him. I got up and went after it, but a hand snapped out and grabbed my foot. Without thinking I turned around and kicked him in the face. The hand let go of my ankle and I gave him another good strike to the ear and chased after my skateboard.

It rolled into the street, but the place was clear of cars. I picked it up and went left, hoping that now I had a chance at making a clean getaway.

I made it about a block and a half before I looked around to check my progress. My heart dropped _way_ down when I saw that there were still two guards (covered in pie, no less). I couldn't believe it! How could they still be after me!

I was running out of ideas. I was also running out of energy. I may have been a little bit faster, but they were by far stronger. Speed and tricks were only going to get me so far. I needed an outright diversion – a trap.

But where the hell do you find those in a market?

Maybe you don't, I thought to myself as I started to run again. Maybe you're supposed to _make_ them.

Like hell that was going to happen.

I jumped onto the skateboard and started rolling for all I was worth. People parted a lot more quickly when there was a teenager on wheels careening through. I had never, ever gone this fast before, but I was risking safety for speed. When I glanced behind me, I saw the Pie Faces getting smaller and smaller.

My heart soared. It then fell when I hit the curb and surged into the road, gasping as a car almost ran me over and managed to get the nose of the board up as the sidewalk came. I nearly lost my balance and knocked over a jogger to right myself – but I was still going.

I saw the road widen in the distance, merging into a rather large boulevard.

I glanced behind me – Pie Face Number One and Two must've stolen some motorcycles, because they were zooming up towards me.

_Oh, great_, I thought. Instead of getting shot, I was going to get rolled over. Awesome.

In less than ten seconds flat, both were on either side of me. They cared very little for road rules, as one skipped the curb and started kicking up dust on the sidewalk. They forced me into the street – we were going downhill now, so I could barely slow myself, while they were totally in control.

At least, I thought to myself, we were going the right way. Cars saw us coming and pulled aside, shouting curses and pulling out phones. At first, I was glad they were calling 9-1-1. Then I remembered that the police were the last people who I wanted to know about this.

They drew in close, the motors so loud I couldn't hear anything, not even my own breathing. I gasped as my legs brushed against one side, and scraped on the other. What the hell was I going to do?

Then I got this crazy, stupid idea. Because I was running out of time (and there was an intersection coming up), it was the only thing I could do.

I jumped onto the motorcycle on the right, my butt sliding in the seat. The idiot had the brilliant idea of taking one that had extra seating space, and with both my legs sticking out on one side, there was plenty of room. As I had jumped, I took the skateboard with me. Taking it in hand, I smacked the driver's head.

Like I said before, it was stupid and crazy. The last thing you wanted to do in or on a vehicle was distract (or in this case, seriously injure) the one controlling it. But it was the only thing I could think of that would get him off my back for good.

_CRAAACCK-SHCK!_

The board practically exploded on contact. It split in two – one part still in my hands, the other flying to the left and smacking the other guy hard enough that he almost lost control. The guy in front of me apparently couldn't take another blow to the head, and went out cold on the motorcycle. I gasped, reaching forward to grab the handles, squeezing the brakes as hard as I could.

We were still going downhill – the other Pie Face was too focused on staying with me to actually attack. I used that to my advantage.

We were nearing the intersection. I had kept holding onto the breaks until it came to a complete stop – as soon as I felt the jerk, I jumped off and broke full-tilt into a sprint.

There was only one thought in my mind: _I can make this! I can make this!_

Stopped cars were head of us, slowing down for the now-turned yellow light. Pie Face Number One was still going after me, slowing down considerably after he almost lost control, but then cut through between the cars as I charged towards the intersection.

The pavement was hot underneath me. I still had a few more seconds of yellow, but I knew I wouldn't be able to make it to the other side. I glanced around quickly, looking for a car speeding to make it.

Just my luck, a large UPS truck was rushing through to my right. I sidled between two cars and snapped out my arm – caught the side of the moving vehicle – and almost felt my arm being jerk out of its socket as I was yanked violently off my feet.

My takeoff gave me enough momentum to swing on the little ledge on the back of the truck. I gasped as we shot to the other side, just before a long line of vehicles from the other side screamed past, leaving one Pie Face slumped over a tipped motorcycle and another shaking his fists angrily and mouthing foul words between the angry cars surrounding him.

I watched as the traffic ran by, watching him as I was carried farther and farther away. We went over a hill and he disappeared from sight. By the time his light turned green again, I was long gone.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Sam vs. _the Invite_

I didn't dare get off the truck while it was still moving. I didn't have to look for signs to know he was going way over the speed limit (was he trying to make a record or something? I was safer breaking the sound barrier on my skateboard!), and as I hung on to the back, catching my breath and checking myself to see if I got any unnoticed wounds, I started to feel _a lot_ of cuts and bruises I forgot I made.

Both my knees were sore and bleeding – as were my hands, which made it really hard not to keep holding onto the handle of the back door – my right shoulder was aching, not only from the cut I earned from the assassin, but now from the bruises when I smashed those boxes into my pursuers way; My lip was bleeding from when I accidentally bit on it while falling (which happened so many times I couldn't recall which one); and I was pretty sure my back had a few cuts on it from my little adventure in the caves.

But I was so happy, so _exhilarated_, to be alive that I barely thought about them. I couldn't even believe it! I escaped! I did it!  
It wasn't easy, but I managed to shake a bunch of bad guys off my trail. And now, my investigation could continue. Now that I was here, laughing to myself, I realized something:_ That was fun_.

Okay, not fun like let's-go-on-the-bumper-cars fun; it was more like let's-go-to-the-biggest-scariest-dangerous-rollerc oaster fun. That fun of having that had leftover adrenaline in your veins, the shakiness in your knees, the bragging rights to say you did it and didn't scream like a little baby. I enjoyed it _because_ of the thrills – in retrospect, that is.

It kind of scared me to realize I actually _liked_ that kind of excitement, but I didn't know what else to think. It's not like you can make yourself hate pizza if it was your most favorite food in the world. You just liked it, simple as that. I guessed that was the same thing for this.

(And, besides, why should you force yourself to hate something as awesome as pizza? There's nothing wrong with it!)

I waited until the truck came to a complete stop before I got off. The driver saw me and opened his mouth to yell, but I dashed off before I could hear what he had to say.

I didn't know where I was. I had never been down this far in the city, although I was still somewhere near Los Angeles. I couldn't smell the beach air anymore, which meant I must be farther away from the coast. Maybe I could get a cab back –

I had turned a corner, looking behind me when I ran into someone. Still a little wired from my previous escapade, I kind of… freaked out; I jumped back and uttered a (I'll admit, rather undignified) little scream.

However, the person I ran into wasn't another guard who inexplicably managed to find me. Instead, I realized after a second of panic, it was Alex.

God damn, how does he do that?

He seemed just a taken aback as I was. "Sam? What are you doing here?"

Well, since I never expected to be running into someone I actually knew, I uttered a very intelligent, "Uh, I dunno?"

Alex blinked in surprise then smiled. "You don't know? So, you just happened to be wandering in the same place I was, down the same street I was going?"

I tried to smile back, but it was hard. At first, I thought he was accusing me, but then I realized he was teasing. I relaxed a little bit. "Yeah, total coincidence. I, uh, just went to the beach for a, um, swim."

"You don't sound so sure."

Well, duh, because it was more like sneaking into a giant cave filled with stolen boats and armed men – but yeah, it was just a little swim. I forced myself to smile more confidently and confirm, "I was getting bored in the Buy More, so I decided I needed a little sun. Nothing strange in that."

Alex's dark eyes gleamed (which made my heart thump a little harder) as he chuckled, "I suppose not. All the better, I guess, since I wanted to talk to you anyways."

"Y-you did?" I stuttered, because I was too busy admiring him to actually form perfectly articulate answer. But could you blame me? I couldn't help but stare at the shirt that fit him perfectly, or the shorts that revealed long, tough legs. I could feel heat in my chest and face, and my hand shot up to scratch my head, because I didn't know what to do. "What ab-about?"

Alex was about to reply; in fact, his mouth was already forming the words when his eyes focused on something. "Well, I – what's wrong with your hand?"

I froze on the spot. I withdrew my hand, staring at it, realizing it was covered in dirt, sand, blood, and my own sweat. Oops.

"I, um, fell," I said, raising my other hand. But that was another mistake, because I still had the broken half of my skateboard in it. "On…well, this."

Alex jumped when he saw the decapitated skateboard, then took a whole step back to look me over. In any other situation, I might've been flattered or something, but right now being all beat up, I was embarrassed. I couldn't help but watch as his eyebrows slowly climbed their way up.

Alex didn't seem to know what to make of me. After a full minute of silence, he finally said, "Skateboarding isn't your sport, Sam."

I was so glad he didn't say anything that might've made this situation any more awkward. I sighed, glancing down at the broken skateboard. There was a tiny patch of blood from where my foot stood on it. "Yeah, I think I've come to that conclusion as well."

When his eyes landed on my bare feet (and the slight blood trail they left behind), he asked "Ouch. How can you still be walking on those?"

I looked down at my feet, really studying them now. They were bloody (as mentioned), and covered in blisters. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off and I was finally taking a gander at what had happened to me, pain starting shooting my legs. I gasped and almost toppled. And to think I had just made it by with a few bruises and cuts.

Alex was quick enough to catch me before I lost my balance. He was frowning now. "Please don't tell me you decided to swim with a skateboard."

"What? No! I'm not that stupid!" I looked at him, feeling slightly insulted. Then I paused, thought it over, and added, "But I don't think I'd be wrong in saying I'm not good at making big decisions."

Alex half-laughed at that. "I think I would agree. Come on, we should get you fixed up. I'm sure Jack has a few band-aids in her bag."

He helped me walk to a wider street, where a lot of shoppers were. We came across a trash can, where I disposed my half of the skateboard. I was glad to discover this wasn't the one where I was chased through, although I wouldn't know what would've happened if it were. Would anyone have recognized me?

I remembered Jack from the Buy More, but now she looked way more collected than she had then. She was in front of some shop, looking at the products in the windows, when she turned to see Alex coming. She smiled, but it faltered when she saw that he wasn't alone. And that person with him wasn't exactly in good shape.

"Alex, what's going…" she started as we caught up, but when she finally saw me up close, her eyes widened. "Wait, you're the girl from the Buy More!"

I was glad that, despite my injuries (and touching being held by Alex!), I still had a firm hold on my mind. I was about to say "Yep, that's me." When Alex intervened:

"Yeah – she's also the girl who rides a skateboard with no shoes."

I looked at him, and Alex returned it with a cheeky little smile. With the arm around his shoulder, I whacked him across the head. Not hard, of course…but enough to get the message across.

Jack gave _me_ a look, as if trying to decide whether I was really stupid or just crazy. Maybe both. Although, since she was Alex's guardian, I suppose she was also concerned with the kinds of girls he'd hang out with, and maybe why he'd be around a girl who apparently didn't think of the obvious.

(Which, in my defense, I didn't have time to put on shoes before I had to run for my _life_! But of course I couldn't tell _them_ that!)

Jack's eyes fell to my feet and she winced, "Jeez, did you walk on glass or something? You need to get that looked at!"

"Well," I said, flinching a little as I shifted from one foot to the other. "It'd be nice if I had some water and maybe some band-aids. It's not as bad as it looks, really –" that was when I put pressure on my left foot, then immediately pulled it back up from the amount of pain I got in response " – _Okay, I take that back_. Can we sit down somewhere, please?"

Jack was still staring at me – when we found some tables outside a shop and sat down, when Alex got me a bottle of water, when I gulped down half of it (I hadn't realized how thirsty I was) and used the rest to wash out the dirt from my feet. I tried to concentrate on cleaning my wounds, but my neck felt all warm and prickly with two pairs of eyes boring into me.

"Is something wrong?" I finally asked, controlling myself so I didn't accidentally scream it out. I don't like being watched. It made me feel vulnerable and weird, like I was some sort of specimen. It was disturbing.

"Oh," Jack blushed, smiling ruefully. "Sorry. It's just – I've never met anyone who ruined their feet by just skateboarding. I mean, what were you thinking?"

That seemed to be a question a lot of people were asking me lately. "I've been asking that myself, honestly."

Jack nodded, a strange look on her face, but she dropped the subject by starting a new one, "So, do you work at the Buy More?"

I paused, my eyes widening a little. "Um, no – I just…well, my cousin works there. I just, um, hang out."

"You're allowed to do that?"

I blushed, shrugging. I returned to cleaning up my wounds (which weren't as bad now that I wasn't standing on them), while Jack only looked amused. She shook her head, as if thinking to herself, then stood up. "Well, I'm going to go look around a little bit. I'll just leave you two alone…I suppose…"

She wandered off, and for a second, I was afraid. Jack didn't exactly pry for answers, but the look on Alex's face told me he might. I don't know, but this wasn't something I'd like to explain, and it'd probably freak him out. Which I kind of wanted to avoid, for my sake.

Alex didn't say much (I supposed he was still trying to figure out exactly how stupid I was), but I forced myself not to notice by focusing on bandaging my feet. I was closed to finished when I finally blurted, "What is it?"

I kind of said it louder than I meant to. Which inevitably led me to blushing again. Because, you know, I've got a great poker face and always keep my emotions in check.

"What is what?" he asked, leaning back a little in surprise. Either he was guilty for thinking of something, or maybe I _was_ a little too loud.

"That look on your face. Like you think I'm crazy."  
"No, I don't!" Alex protested, but a look from me he muttered, "Okay, maybe just a little. But, no, that's not what I was thinking about."

Oh. "Well, what then?" I asked, leaning against the table as I tried to stand up. My left foot was particularly tender, and it hurt just to touch. How was I going to get home like this?

"I know this seems like a really bad time to ask," Alex said as he helped me up. He glanced over his shoulder; Jack was already halfway across the street, quite out of earshot. I was blushing again, but it seemed to be happening so often now that even I forgot I was doing it. "But I had been meaning to ask you – there's a festival tomorrow night, on the beach. Some people I know are going, but I don't have a date, so I was wondering –"

"Yes!" I blurted immediately after I heard the word 'date.' My heart skipped a beat, sheer joy coursing threw me. Alex was asking me out on a date! This was amazing! Fantastic!

Alex looked a little stunned. "Really? Are you sure? Because I don't want you to hurt yourself just to make me happy –"

"I'm fine!" I assured him, almost collapsing as I put weight on my left foot. Way to go, Sam. "I'll be better by tomorrow, trust me."

"I'm not sure I want to," he said as he supported more of my weight. From what I could tell, he was pretty strong. Did he go to a gym or something? "I mean, it's all the way over the city from where you live – near the Marina Del Ray, where these yachts are."

"Yachts?" I asked, my interest perking suddenly for something that had absolutely nothing to do with Alex. Was it…could it be…I mean, the chances are, like, so little – but if I had the opportunity…

"Yeah, it's been on the news lately, haven't you heard? Some boat stealer and a missing photographer. Just all weird stuff to me."

"Uh-huh," I said, but I had stopped paying attention. I _had_ to go to this party – there might be stolen yachts there! This was the best opportunity I could find in getting back into that cave, find evidence, and maybe save that photographer!

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow yourself, Sam! You're starting to have delusions of grandeur! Going into the Marina Del Ray – sneaking onto private property, on boats that didn't belong to you – that was dangerous. Actually, I was pretty sure it was illegal. Not this sneaking-into-secret-caves-filled-with-contraband stuff. I could actually get arrested!

Granted, trespassing wasn't exactly going to give me a life sentence, but I doubted Mom wanted to hear that her daughter managed to get herself into trouble with the law just barely into her first week in California. It wouldn't exactly make me the pride of the Bartowskis.

"Sam?" I heard a distant voice call for me. "Sam? Are you still in there?"

I shook my head, returning to reality once again. Blinking quickly, I replied sheepishly, "Sorry, I kind of zoned out."

Alex laughed. "Is it safe for me to assume that's common or just something you do around me?"

So much for being discreet! Honestly, I would've taken it as an insult until I realized (quickly, thank gosh) that he was flirting. Really obviously. So obviously, in fact, that I was so stunned I could barely manage a spastic giggle, never mind a clever comeback.

Well, since it was kind of true and I really just had no excuse for it, I just sort of shrugged and tried to save face, "Ha-ha, you got me. Guilty as charged."

On the bright side, Alex didn't embarrass me any further. Also, he got me a cab, which probably saved me a two hour walk home (which I only knew the address and was a little fuzzy on how exactly to get there from here), and I waved as he slowly shrunk behind me.

The ride was only twenty minutes, but it felt like forever. My mind was racing, thinking hard about the festival, Alex, and Marina Del Ray. Part of me was scared – I had already decided I was going to sneak in, no question about it – wondering if maybe I was in over my head. But I knew what I had to do, what I had to look for. It'd be fast – if I could find the right boat, I'd be done in a jiffy. I think. And yet, it felt like I was missing something…

Oh, wait! My bag! With my stuff! I left it at the beach – I'd have to get it back!

But the sky was fading darker, warm orange and red painting the west horizon. It was too late now, and I couldn't risk going back. I neither had the money to pay for it, or the strength, and if I was out past six o'clock, Ellie would probably incarcerate me in my own room. Which, let's be honest, doesn't offer a lot of excitement.

The idea of leaving my stuff – at least, my swimming stuff – out at a beach that I wasn't sure the name of, in a place I wasn't sure I could remember…it made me feel vulnerable. I mean, what if they found my stuff? I knew they were criminals and all, but would they be smart enough to look for fingerprints or DNA? If I was caught, I wasn't sure what I'd do!

Whoa, relax, Sam. Take deep breaths. You'll check on it tomorrow. If it's still there, you're probably safe. If it's not, just keep an eye out for bad guys. Simple as that.

Well, I thought to myself, feeling rather content with my progress. This was going to be great.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Sam vs. _the Festival_

The next morning I was so sore I didn't get up until eleven o'clock. Just going to the bathroom was like I was walking in a field of broken glass. After yawning a billion times, raking a brush through my tangled curly mass of hair (which was still tangled and curly after I was done), and after making an excellent breakfast of cereal and ibuprofen, I decided that I should probably prepare.

While I waited for the painkiller to kick in, I went online to look up the names of boats that had been stolen by (allegedly) the same people I was after, writing them all down on a piece of paper, then folding it and stuffing it in my pocket. I could use that as a reference when I got into the Marina Del Ray, see if my hunch was right and that the baddies would keep a stolen boat or two out in the open in case, like, they needed…something. A quick getaway? Maybe to ferry drugs and look as inconspicuous (as much as you could be inconspicuous in a yacht) at the same time.

I made another deep-sea search, only this time into my wardrobe, hoping that maybe Mom had the incredible foresight to pack me orthopedic shoes or something. But as I expected, she did not. I did, however, find some sandals that didn't chafe my feet like my sneakers did. Which was a miracle, because I wasn't going anywhere if I was had to put on sneakers. I'd probably collapse before I was out the door.

I was ready.

I took a cab to the street near the café I ran through the other day. I hadn't meant to remember, but the image of two hulking men covered in pie was a hard image to erase from my mind.

It felt strange to be back here. Now that I was no longer being chased, I saw a lot of things I hadn't noticed before. Like, for instance, the police officer strolling down the sidewalk. Had he been here yesterday? Was he one of the people I had pushed out of the way in order to escape? I desperately hoped not.

Another thing was how many surfers were here. And tourists. Everywhere I looked were souvenir shops, swim wear shops, outrageously expensive family restaurants. All I had to do was ask for the nearest beach and the cashier would be happy to point out the way. So long as I bought a Popsicle first.

I took my time getting there. I had the whole morning to myself. Also, I didn't want to look suspicious. I was afraid that there might be lookouts who were watching for me. I'd probably attract unwanted attention by rushing to the beach as fast as possible.

Luckily, the beach she pointed to was the one I wanted. My feet chafed painfully in the hot sand, so I took my sandals and did the best I could not to get sand in the bandages. Every step hurt, but I tried to make the taste of the popsicle distract me. With sunglasses on, I probably looked like any other beachgoer.

I made my way to the edge of the forest, were there were less people. My lips were probably bright green by then. I ducked into the foliage.

At first, I thought I had the wrong place. But I recognized the giant moss-covered rock and that hollowed out, rotten tree. But my stuff was not where I left it. In fact, I couldn't find it anywhere. The air tank, the wetsuit, the duffle bag – all gone.

My stomach did flips. They found my stuff. They took it. It was a good thing I didn't write my name on my stuff. But could they trace my DNA, my fingerprints? I'd always assumed that the bad guys couldn't, but now I wasn't so sure. If they had men in the police force, that meant they had access to things like criminal records and stuff like that. What if they could find me?

Without my things, it eliminated any chance of me scuba-diving back into that cave. Also, I had lost Ellie's stuff. How was I going to come up with a good excuse for that? I would be grounded for sure! That is, if they hadn't already.

For some reason, I didn't panic. I sure as hell didn't have an answer for my dilemma, but apparently I wasn't too freaked out about this. Or maybe I was just still in shock from yesterday. You never know.

With nothing left to recover, I made my way back home. I spent most of the day inside, which was a relief. I redid the bandages, added some of that anti-bacteria stuff, then watched TV for 3 hours, eating cheese puffs. I know, I know, I wasn't exactly poster child for a healthy lifestyle, but my feet needed the break.

No one was home, which was just fine by me. I barely made it through the Ellie Test last night (the messed-up feet and collection of new bruises _did not_ go down well with Ellie's dinner, least to say) and I didn't plan on doing it again. Chuck was surprisingly nonchalant about me cutting up my feet via barefoot skateboarding, but I guessed he saw a lot of freaky stuff as a nerd herder.

The couch was still under repair from the ninja attack. My skin crawled when I thought about him. Did they think I was dead now that they had sent the ninja? Or were they still thinking I was after them? All this life-or-death stuff – I had to be close to solving the murder! You only have to kill people when they know too much, right? That's how it works on TV. I had to find the photographer. I had to find out what he knew.

But first, the festival.

Now this I was scared about. I've never been to a high school let alone an actual party. I mean, what do you even do at parties? Already, I was starting to regret agreeing to go. I mean, I'm practically a cripple if I stayed on my feet for longer than a couple hours at best. How was I going to make it to the Marina Del Ray? I'll be too exhausted just to walk on a boat, never mind finding the right one and sneaking inside.

Oh, man. I was in for one heck of a night.

I started getting ready at 5 o' clock, mostly because it was going to take several brushings to get rid of my green lips and cheese breath. Detangling my hair via brush was another pain I had to endure, since it was still messy from the yesterday.

I really wanted to dress up, mostly because this was my first _ever_ party, but I also had to account for both the Marina and the fact I was going to be on the beach. You can't sneak around very well in a dress, which I had discovered after the Borsche incident, so shorts was the only way to go. I decided to wear a bathing suit underneath, though – the news said it was going to be a humid night and, well, the ocean was right there. So what was it going to hurt?

Unfortunately, I was still going to be sporting a strange version of the gladiator sandals. It was weird and would probably make me regret even leaving the house, but I wanted to do it. I was getting closer to solving the mystery. And, you know, Alex.

Pulling a shirt over my head, I took some painkillers before going out the door. We had agreed to meet at a street corner a little ways away from the festival – we'd have to walk there, so I hoped on the cab ride that the Tylenol would kick in. Ha-ha, kick in, get it?

I know, I know.

The sun was still in the sky, so at first I thought I had gotten there to early. But no, the clock on the cab's dashboard told me it was six o'clock. Not even my stomach was telling me the right time, because I was already filled with cheese puffs (delicious…). The horizon was getting steadily darker, so perhaps it would be night by the time I got to the Marina Del Ray. If I could make it that far.

The farther the cab drove the harder my heart beat. Maybe I was anxious about the festival, or about the idea that, hey, I'm out with this cute guy; or perhaps it was the idea of somehow getting evidence. My plan seemed so flimsy now that I was on the move. Would it even work?

I was going to worry further when the cab came to a stop and the driver demanded his money. Forking it over, I slipped out and looked around. This was the place where we agreed to meet and yet…

Where was he?

I must've been crazy, because I was absolutely positive that I was the only person on this lonely street. I could smell the salty air of the beach, but I couldn't see it from here. There was a giant hedge of bushes that guarded a fancy bank or something, and across the street were quiet motels. How could there literally be no one here?

"For a second there, I wasn't sure you were coming. My first instinct was to attack whoever had spoken, but I forced myself to remain completely sane when I realized it was simply Alex there. Who apparently showed up out of nowhere.

Still, it was Alex.

I relaxed. "Oh, it's just you."

A look crossed his face, as if Alex couldn't decide whether to be offended or worried. "Uh, who were you expecting? The police?"

Actually, that would terrify me, but I forced a giddy laugh (yeah, I totally sound crazy now), "What? No, of course not. I don't know, you just…scared me, that's all. Where were you?"

Alex shrugged, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. "Got delayed a little bit. I couldn't find a cab, so I got here on foot. You ready?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

Alex smiled, and butterflies smacked against the walls of my stomach. He held out his hand (and for a second, I wasn't sure what he wanted), and with the butterflies still going nuts in my guts, I took it, hoping I didn't look like an idiot, being giddy and all.

Alex seemed to know where we were going, so I let him lead the way. And because awkward silence was the bane of…conversation, I decided _heck, why not_?

"So, what was this delay you were talking about?" I asked, watching my feet. Stop that! It was a habit that I wanted to break, but with Alex it was harder than it looked. I made myself look up, searching for a focus point. I followed the light posts, which probably made me look a little less shy and a little more crazy.

"It was nothing really," Alex shrugged again, making a face. "Jack kept stalling me, thinking I was forgetting something each time. I mean, I _wasn't_, but you try to convince her that. It was if I was going to get myself into trouble."

I laughed, "That sounds just like Ellie."

"Who?" Alex asked as a strange look flashed across his face. It was too fast for me to catch, making me wonder what the name Ellie meant to him.

"Oh, she's my cousin. I'm living with her while I'm here. You should've seen her face when I got back with my feet all beat up. I thought she was never going to let me leave the house again."

"She sounds scary." Alex commented.

"I don't think so," I shook my head. With Borsche and those guys guarding the stolen boats in the picture, Ellie was tame in comparison. Still, that didn't mean I liked it when she interrogated me. "She's nice, friendly. And a doctor."

Alex snorted. "Is your whole family doctors?"

"What? No...well, Captain Awesome is, but not everyone."

"Wait, who's Captain Awesome?" Alex was looking flustered now, amused yet still bewildered. I guess a name like Captain Awesome would certainly throw some people off. "How many people do you live with?"

I had to count on my fingers. Did Morgan count? Casey? No, definitely not Casey. "Just four."

"And why do you call him Captain Awesome?"

"Well, General Spectacular sounded a little too ostentatious, so we had to…" I started, but Alex had already started to crack up before I was finished. As we continued down the sidewalk, I could hear music in the distance. I almost wanted to walk faster, but my feet, which were still sore, didn't want to move any more than they had to. The pace we were going was just fine.

People began to fill the streets as well. Party lights hung overhead, between trees and lamp posts, while streamers connected flag poles and anything else that was at least ten feet tall or higher. The smell of the beach grew stronger as we got closer, and I noticed that some of the partygoers were wearing…less than traditional bathing suits.

I stared as a two women in feather headdresses and sparkly leotards pranced by. I turned to Alex, "What kind of festival is this, exactly?"  
He noticed the women I was staring at, then laughed, "Oh, they're just here for the parade. We can go watch, if you want."

"Wait, a parade? What for?" This was some festival! This couldn't possibly be someone's birthday, could it? I mean, _no one_ celebrates their own birthday with a festival _and_ all-out parade, do they?

Alex gave me a strange look. "You're not serious, are you?"  
"I have no idea what's going on!"

"Where have you been, Sam?" Alex shook his head, laughing. "Do you even know what month it is?"

"Um…" I had to think back on it. It had been the last week of June when I got here…and I spent like, four days trying to gather clues and whatnot. But then that means... "It's the 4th of July, isn't it?"

"Took you long enough. How could you not remember?"

"I dunno." My face was warm, and it wasn't because of the nice weather we had out. "I've been really busy lately. I guess I just lost track of time."  
Wow. The 4th of July. Independence Day. I've only really celebrated it back when we didn't live in Montana. I've only seen fireworks once. And I've never seen a parade before. Or a party. Or a festival. This was going to be a lot of firsts for me today.

Ahead of us were throngs of people, food stands, and a several fairground rides. People was laughing, shouting, screaming, calling and having a grand ol' time in general. Several acrobats did backflips on a stage, while a guy was suspended on a seat above a pool of water, while kids tried to knock him off by throwing balls at a target. There was a big _sploosh!_ And water soaked the ground in a seven foot radius.

The festival seemed to span several blocks, and I could see a street cleared to make way for the parade. There wasn't any yet, but some people already had their lawn chairs out to wait. Music, all kinds, came from everywhere. Pop music came from speakers that hung from lamp posts, while the Ferris Wheel and Merry-Go-Round produced their own. There was also several bands – from folk music to the mariachi – and there was a dance floor where people were square dancing. The music, the noise, the lights: it was so much to take in. I wanted to go everywhere at the same time. I didn't even know if I _liked_ Merry-Go-Rounds, I just wanted to go.

However, with a million people milling about, eating, drinking, and playing with whatever prize they won, I was bound to get myself hurt, as usual. Someone had dropped one of those red little baskets you put fries in, which of course I tripped on. I ended up catching rocks in my sandals when I righted myself, which then I stepped on and ultimately made all that painkiller disappear.

I stumbled painfully on one foot, wishing I had brought extra Tylenol in case something like this happened. Alex caught my arm before I could fall. I leaned heavily against him, wobbling as I struggled to shake the rocks out of my sandals. He didn't complain – He even took the sandal from my hand when I took it off to get rid of the rocks stuck in the bandages.

I finally had to sit down to remove the little pebbles. The ground wasn't particularly comfortable, but at least I wouldn't be run over by other people. Fixing the bandaging so it was tighter around my foot, I got a good look at what it had become.

…Well, it wasn't pretty. I don't want to describe it, but I suppose it's worth mentioning.

The skin was angry red and purple, with ugly crinkled scars where it was healing. Some of the skin, around the edges, was a pale-ish, white-ish color, like it hadn't seen the sun for a while. Then again, it probably didn't. Just looking at it made my head hurt, so I made myself hurry when fixing the wrap.

It didn't really feel that much better when I was done, but it certainly wasn't feeling any worse. I closed my eyes, hoping that maybe I could just wish the pain away. I've heard of people doing that before – mind over matter or something. It didn't really matter, anyways – I gave up twenty seconds in.

I was surprised to find that, when I opened my eyes, to see an ice-cream cone standing there. Stunned, I discovered that Alex had gone to a vendor nearby to get something to eat. He sat down beside me. He pointed at my foot, "You think you can still walk around on that?"

I analyzed it. I wasn't ready to stand on it just yet, but it still hurt enough that sitting down made it pretty hard to concentrate on anything else. "I dunno. Thanks for the ice cream; I needed a brain freeze."

"Hey, no problem," he shrugged, smiling. "I don't mind helping a damsel in distress."

Oh, goodie. Just the thing I wanted to be identified with.

I pushed that thought away, trying to keep myself cheery even though my feet hurt, my head ached, and my ego slightly pinched. "As long as I make it out of here alive, Mr. Bond, I won't mind either."

"You're still going to call me that?"

"You planning on calling me a damsel in distress again?"

Alex shook his head, laughing as he said, "Alright, alright! Point taken."

I looked up at the sky – not so much that I saw something up there, but because I realized I was staring at Alex (and not particularly on his face) and felt my face warm up when it started getting awkward. Biting my lip, I told myself to relax. Focus on the pain. It sucks, yes. Just stop _staring_. He'll notice.

There weren't a lot of stars out yet, but I could point out Cygnus and Cassiopeia. Most of the lights in the city and fairground made it pretty hard to see, but the brighter stars were easier to make out. Dad knew all of them, and on a clear night in the countryside, he'd point out all of them. Of course, I'd try to learn them, but being a jittery nine-year-old made it hard to remember anything but the obvious ones.

I think I knew most of them now – on the warmer nights in Montana, I would climb onto the roof (not telling Mom, because if she knew, she'd probably have a heart attack), wearing my boots, pajamas, and parka zipped all the way up with my hands buried so far deep in the pockets they were digging into my stomach; I'd clear away some snow and sit on some dry shingles and just stay there, thinking, admiring how the moonlight made creepy, pretty shadows on the mountains. Sometimes it was the only time I could think about Dad – the only time I felt closest to him, although it's hard to explain why. Thinking up there, at night, was completely different compared to just sitting in my room or the kitchen, waiting for something – _anything_ – to happen.

Maybe it was the idea that this was a secret, something Mom wasn't allowed to know. It played to my nostalgia, my urge to be a little kid again when things were simpler and easier to understand. I didn't have to know important things. The Real World belonged to the grown-ups, who knew anything and everything, while we played in the sand and finger-painted our family on plain paper, taping them haphazardly to the windows in the classroom. They'd stay up there for the entire year, until our teacher gave them back to us for graduating another grade.

I sighed, surprised when I discovered how shaky it was. Keep it together, Sam. This is no place to get all emotional about silly things that happened eons ago. Look at all the pretty stars…

"You know," Alex leaned in, whispering with a cunning smile on his face as he pointed up. "I'm pretty sure we can get a better view from the Ferris Wheel over there. I _could_ probably bribe the guy to stop us at the top."

I glanced at him, a smile playing on my lips. I wasn't sure if I should be flattered or flirting. "Only if you give me a piggy back ride, because a horse with a broken leg has a better chance at getting there than I do on my own two feet."

"How desperate is that horse?"

I stared at him, totally bewildered, but Alex just smiled and stood up. He held out his hand, which I took. "A horse desperate enough to ask for a piggy back ride."

Alex cocked his head, as if to think. "Well, I don't know about a horse, but I'm pretty sure I could carry a human girl."

"Which is just what I wanted to hear."

Now, I'm not going to say I didn't enjoy that ride. Because, let me tell you, I did. In fact, I couldn't stop giggling the whole time, which was made worse since Alex didn't exactly rush over there. It must be true what they say about laughter being contagious, because soon enough Alex was laughing, too, and neither of us knew how to stop.

We were both out of breath by the time we got to the line. Some people stared at us, but didn't say anything. Just two wild teenagers fooling around. Nothing out of the ordinary.

I had to stand while we waited our turn – meanwhile, I spent that time cleaning the back of Alex's shirt; I had accidentally spilled some ice cream on it, and Alex complained that it was his favorite shirt. I certainly didn't complain when he took it off, though.

As we progressed in the line, I noticed more people joining the wait. It was a good thing we got to the Ferris Wheel when we did, or Alex would have to carry me again. As I watched the fairgoers walk, jump, and skip around, I couldn't get rid of the creepy feeling that every hulking figure was a gun-wielding goon. But my paranoia just made me feel weirder when I realized they were eating messy corndogs, or getting dunked in that pool, or dressed entirely as a clown.

Oh, God. Gun-wielding clown goons. I was scaring myself again.

My feet, which had gone numb a minute ago, started hurting again, so I focused on that. As it came our turn, I watched as the Ferris Wheel rotated, the slow spinning lights almost hypnotizing. Next thing I knew, we were sitting in one of the carriages and I was grinning like a goof.

There was a lurch as the Wheel jerked to life. I grabbed onto the railing, not only relieved to be sitting down, but also the excitement as the carriage left the ground. Music played as we climbed into the air. I stretched in my seat, trying to see past the trees to the oceanic horizon. The sun had pretty much set by then, leaving only a faint orange glow on the horizon, the water glittering below it, looking like a picturesque scene from a postcard.

As we neared the top, I felt a hand on my shoulder pulling me back. I turned to Alex, confused. But he only looked mildly amused. "If you lean out any farther, you're gonna fall off."

I looked down, startled to find out that he was right. I was standing up (or as much as you could in a Ferris Wheel), leaning _way _over the railing. I could see several people below pointing up at me. Embarrassed, I sat back in my seat. "Oh. Sorry."

"It's all right. It's like you've never seen a sunset before."

"Well, it wasn't much of a sunset," I shrugged, the carriage jerking to a stop. I pointed up. "But hey, you were right. The stars _are_ easier to see up here."

"Which ones do you know?" Alex asked, looking up. He leaned slightly in, and in response I did the same. I guess you can say it was an unconscious act on both our parts (as far as I know), but let me tell you, I certainly noticed. "Constellations, I mean."

"A lot, I guess. My dad taught me most of them. See, that one's Cassiopeia and the one over there is Cygnus, the swan."

"Yeah, I see. So, where's Orion?"

I gave him a funny look. "He only comes out in winter, silly."

He returned the look, saying stiffly, "I knew that – I was just…making sure you did, too."

"You're gonna have to try a little harder than that, Mr. Bond."

"I won't say another word."

"Really? Then who am I going to talk to? The chair?"

Alex sat back and I did, too. Putting his arms behind his head, Alex grinned as he said, "Amuse me."

I rolled my eyes but played along. I stared at the empty space between us and started talking in a funny voice, "Why hello, Mr. Chair, how nice to meet you. Well, yes, I'm doing _just great_. Oh, really? You think so too? ...I know, right? I mean, what kind of person _acts_ like that? Who knew he could be such prima donna?"

"_Excuse me_?" Alex suddenly interrupted, offended. "You know, if you've got a problem with something, you tell me, all right? I don't like it when people started talking to chairs about me."

"I'm sorry, did I strike a little nerve?" I asked, no longer talking to the chair. "I didn't think you'd be so sensitive."

"Sensitive, me? _Nah_."

I couldn't hold it together after that. I was already having difficulty keeping a straight face, and every other line was sprinkled with uncontrollable giggles. When I started laughing, so did Alex. Yeah, I know it wasn't the most witty, clever comeback, but what he said just made me crack up. Then there was that awkward moment when you suddenly stop laughing – and there was a big sigh as we caught our breath – then a quick glance at each other sent us laughing again.

The wheel started again and we calmed down a little. I wiped away at the tears brimming in my eyes and had to take several gulps of air before I could breathe normally again. As the Ferris Wheel turned, I let myself enjoy the not uncomfortable silence between us. I also let myself enjoy the fact that Alex's arm fell around my shoulders, and I leaned, perhaps not so subtlety, into him.

oOo

It was maybe an hour after the Ferris Wheel did I finally get the chance to go to the Marina Del Ray. I wasn't entirely anxious to go, but as it got darker and darker, I was beginning to fear that I wouldn't be able to find the right boat – I mean, I've seen the pictures. There are hundreds of yacht there – I didn't even bring a flashlight.

We were both walking away from the fairgoers, brightly-lit streets, and musical attractions. A part of me was exhausted – my feet hadn't gotten any better, and I probably burned most of the energy I gained from all that junk food.

A part of me was ready to go home, get changed, and fall dead asleep on my soft, warm bed…

But the other part of me was buzzing with excitement. I knew with absolute certainty that I was definitely not going to bed anytime soon.

Although, I had to admit, when Alex kissed my hand just as I was about to get in a taxi cab, I couldn't help but giggle like a giddy little school girl. Any chance for me to regain dignity was lost when I accidentally tripped backwards, hit my head against the doorframe of the cab. My face pretty much felt the same shade of red as a stop sign as I retreated into the car, waving and assuring Alex that yes, I was perfectly fine (although I was pretty sure I had a growing bump on my head), and no, I didn't need any help. I couldn't even look up out of embarrassment as I closed the door and told the taxi driver my intended destination.

I didn't look up until my headache started to cease. I could tell by the slowing speed of the car that we were getting close. Streetlamps flickered by, my feet flashing in and out of light. I could smell the ocean again, salty and warm. The moon added to the light of the street, and I watched we finally came to a stop on a desolate corner, lighted by a single fluorescent yellow light.

The driver was a little skeptical, but he shut up when I paid him his money. Getting out of the car, I surveyed the area as it drove away. There were no goons, cops, or workmen in sight. I was all alone, and there was only chain-link fence separating me from the multitude of yachts and answers to the mystery I had been dying to solve for days.

As I scaled the fence and dropped down as quietly as I could on the other side (it just made my feet hurt more, but I bit my tongue and sucked it up), I kept to a crouch as I descended the walk and onto the catwalk. There didn't seem to be anyone around, but the sound of waves lapping against the shore could probably mask most footsteps. They'd have to be really close if I was going to hear them.

I checked the first couple boats, even though I was already pretty sure I wasn't going to find the right one that soon. But I didn't want to take that one chance – as it was, my assumption was right. And it was right a hundred times over, as boat after boat revealed nothing but a dark interior and unassuming, irrelevant names with no suspicious looking cargo on board.

It was really discouraging, to say the least. I had to be at least six hundred feet out from my starting point when I started to think that I would _never_ find the right yacht. At least, until I saw the flickering light in the distance.

At first, my immediate thought was that it was a flashlight, and the person holding it was some sort of night guard, so I immediately took cover. But another peek revealed it was too tiny to be a flashlight, and it wasn't even coming from the catwalks – it was coming from the ocean.

I watched in fascination and eerie anticipation as the boat drew closer. Its lights shut off as it neared the bay, but under the light of the moon, I could clearly see the glittering green coat of paint. Its engine was quiet and slow, and it took its time finding a spot to make berth. With no one around and it being too dark for those onboard to see me, I quickly ducked and scrambled between obstacles and crates and boats, until I was close enough to see a group of tall, well-armed goons jump off and bring the boat in. A single kerosene lamp was lit, but it was so tiny that it didn't reveal much.

I was compelled to creep closer, but the idea of one of them tripping on me kept me in place. I watched silently as they moored the boat and gathered, lighting some cigarettes and trading some words. Alcohol and some elicit forms of entertainment was the main subject. I was practically shaking with impatience – when were they going to _leave_?

Maybe after a few minutes of chatting, they grumbled agreement and thumped off in a big group of muscle and testosterone. I watched them walk off the pier and bang through the chain-link gate. I watched as their voices faded away, then waited another minute to make sure no one else was coming back. As soon as that timer ticked its last second, I dashed to the boat, practically bounced off the landing, and came to a crouch on the wooden floor of the yacht.

The boat rocked gently as I moved across the floor. There didn't seem to be anyone else on board, as far as I could tell. The single lamp swayed in the wind, sending weird shadows all over the place. If it came to hiding from someone, I'd have to get creative.

It took me a minute or two to look for any crates. Several were stored right on the first level, in the first room I found (lit with a small light near the window), pretty easy to access and open. It was empty, but the pungent smell of marijuana made it pretty clear what its purpose was.

There were more, maybe six, besides the one right inside, but they were empty as well. The room itself was rather small and cramped, even for a yacht, but there was plenty to find in here. There was a nail gun and, coincidentally, nails. It didn't really mean anything incriminating, but I wished I had brought a camera to take pictures for evidence.

Unfortunately, I didn't find any photos, and certainly no photographer. The next room over was dark, and I had to search the walls for a light switch before I could do anything else. A minute of clumsy scrambling around and the room was softly lit with a white glow from the ceiling.

It looked like a lounge, with couches low to the ground, a fountain (currently turned off), a bar, and an incredibly classy looking hot tub. Two whole walls were made up entirely of floor-to-ceiling windows, giving me the entire view of the ocean horizon and part of the docks. Apparently, this guy liked to ferry drugs in style.

I went through the pillows on the couch, the corners of the tubs, inside the potted plants; I ducked behind the bar, looking through the wine bottles and beer, through the freezer and glasses. But there was nothing here. Nothing at all.

I went from room to room, each just as richly decorated as the last. The lower floors had more cargo than luxuries, but those didn't reveal much either. There was no one on the boat, thankfully, but I'd probably get more out of an invasion if there was.

It wasn't until I got to the top of the boat, where the steering and navigational tools were, when I found something useful. I was gliding my fingers along the find wood finish of the wheel when I noticed something near the radio. The radio wasn't fancy – in fact, it was probably the ugliest, cheapest thing in here. There was a much nicer looking phone beside it. Why would a boat captain have both? Especially some drug lord (or a really wealthy crony) invest in so much of this boat, yet forget about the radio? Considering how old it looked, wouldn't he be worried if it got broken?

I went over to it, glancing out the window to see if anyone was coming. The piers were still dark, the chain link gate clinking back and forth in the wind. There wasn't another soul in sight.

The first thing I noticed when I picked up the radio was that it was incredibly light. I shook it around a bit, like a kid experimenting a present on Christmas morning. There was a slight racket inside, but it didn't sound like loose electronics. I twisted it around, looking for a way to open it. Taking the back edge, I managed to get my fingernails underneath and wedge it out.

The back came off smoothly – the tiny screws had been inexplicably removed. I lifted the radio upside down so it spilled its contents onto the counter. There was a loud clatter as a scratched, slightly broken blue jewel case fell out. The cover opened upon impact, knocking out CD. I flipped it over, to read what it said.

In bold black Sharpie, the words read:

Hennessey Pictures

No way. They couldn't have made it that easy, could they?

I mean, it's one thing to find an unlabeled CD hidden in a weird place, but to have it labeled as the exact thing I was looking for? This drug lord really needed to start doing some security checks. People like me who put their noses in places they don't belong could find things like these.

Suddenly, I was almost jumping with excitement. Right then, I wanted a computer, to see if this was really the pictures that photographer took. Maybe this would be the lead the police were looking for! And I could take it to them, help them solve the case!

I quickly placed the CD back in its case, ready to dash out of there. I slipped it into the waistline of my shorts, like cops do with their guns on TV. I didn't want to put it into my pocket because I was afraid I'd break it if I sat on it…not that I _would_, but still.

I turned off the lights as I made my way out of the yacht. I went in and out, checking the bathroom, the closets, lounges and offices. I also made sure to keep the place looking like I had never been there in the first place. I was just about to leave the hot tub lounge when I crossed the bar and heard a strange noise.

It made me stop in my tracks. I didn't know what it was, or where it came from, but I knew I definitely heard something. I froze in my spot, not daring to move. Had the guards returned? Were they already on the boat?

Another thirty seconds past. I sighed, relaxing. Then, just as soon as I did that, I heard the noise again.

And it was coming from my feet.

Well, below my feet to be exact.

I dropped to the floor, pressing my ear against the carpet. Was it just my imagination, or was that a scream? I didn't know if yachts had a basement – I had gone to the floors below, but I didn't find anyone in there. What was this?

Because I had no idea what else to do, I banged my hand against the floor, once. Then three times. The cry came again, this time sounding distinctly muffled, and not because it was coming from beneath the floor.

Oh, my God. Someone was underneath here.

I jumped up, almost panicking. Was there a trap door around here? Because I didn't see a trap door!

I had turned to the windows when I saw a flash of movement in the reflection. It was too dark and not enough light to see what it was. There was a creak of wood.

At the last second, I realized what that reflection was. That was one second too late.

I had made to turn around. I had already begun turning my foot.

Suddenly, immense pain exploded in my neck. Everything went black.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chuck vs. _the Cell Phone_

Chuck stared at the TV, feeling strangely content. All was well between him and Sarah (kind of), Morgan was now a part of his spy life (for better or worse), and Casey was still Casey (which was a blessing in its own right). His family and friends were safe, and the world was saved yet again.

Yet, something was bugging him. He was under the impression that he had forgotten something.

He checked for his cell-phone, keys, pocket protector, watch. They were all there. Chuck sat back in his seat, thinking back. He didn't leave anything in the Nerd Herder, and Casey had taken care of the rocket grenade launcher. He had checked in and out of the Buy More. Had Jeff and Lester been planning something that Chuck had promised himself to stop before anything catastrophic happened?

But he couldn't recall either of them scheming to make amateur porn or attempting to hijack the Buy More and turn it into their own sound stage. Maybe they'd try to steal fireworks for an early Independence Day.

"Hey, Morgan!" he called behind him. Morgan was puttering around the kitchen, practicing his fried shrimp and dumpling making abilities.

"Hey, bro?"

"Did we forget something today?"

"Well, we saved the world, fixed 10 computers, helped 57 customers, got yelled at by Big Mike, and Sarah's still technically your girlfriend. All in all…"

Chuck laughed a little. "Thanks, buddy. But do you get the feeling that we're missing something – I've been trying to figure out what it is, but I don't know."

"Sorry, man. Can't think of anything. Hey, you think we'll have another mission soon? Because I've been working on this move –"

Chuck's cell phone started to ring.

Chuck reached over the couch to get the phone on the side table. On it was an image of a smiling Sarah. His heart thumped a little harder, but he told himself to relax. It rang two more times before he could bring it to his ear. "Yello?"

"Hi, Chuck. We've got a new mission."

oOo

"We have just received new information on a man living by the alias of Dave Jones," General Beckman gave Team Bartowski a stern look as she briefed them. The sight of the grinning little bearded man in the corner made her skin itch – it was bad enough she had a barely experienced computer technician on her team, but now his moron friend? She missed the Cold War. "He has several charges regarding drug trafficking and is involved with several unsolved murders, but he's slippery – everywhere we look, evidence is being destroyed. We don't know who he really is and his clients aren't talking. We believe he has a stock here in LA, but all sources lead to dead ends."

With a sharp jab of Beckman's finger, blurry, monochrome images of a man appeared on the screen. He was wearing heavy, dark sunglasses and a 5 o'clock shadow. He might have been handsome, but his high cheekbones and thick lips made him look impish – untrustworthy.

Casey squinted at the picture, as though he was thinking of how big a bullet it would take to make the greatest possible damage to Dave Jones' face – Sarah was trying to triangulate his exact location, through hints of his background – Shaw was wondering how this man could possibly become such a threat that the CIA had to deal with him (had he tried to assassinate a senator? Did he pick a fight with the wrong mafia?) – Morgan was thinking how the man looked a lot like that slimy guy from a movie he saw over the summer – and Chuck felt sudden vertigo and nausea as he began to Flash.

"His real name is Antonio Joseph Bellefonte –" Chuck couldn't stop himself as he began to Flash, gasping slightly as the images overwhelmed his brain. Boats; marijuana; a camera; his face from a dozen different angles; guns; a map. It was a sharp, bright feeling, as if he were being blinded – nothing like when he Flashed on a skill, which was much cooler and had much more satisfying results. "Also known as Rainbow Joe. He's in control of the supplies feeding clients all across the West Coast and Mexico. He's wanted in 13 countries and has ties to the Black Market and illegal weapons manufacturers. He brings in drugs via boats, usually taking them to big ports where they won't be found. His current meeting point is a dock in the Marina Del Ray."

There was a short second of silence while everybody stared at him, varying from awe, to fondness, to pointed indifference, a contemplating frown, to a really nasty sneer –

Well, he guessed there were only five of them.

Casey was the first to speak. "Rainbow Joe, huh? Must be an activist."

With that, he snickered to himself and stalked away to go polish his guns.

"Anyways." Shaw blinked, turning his attention back to the General.

"Indeed," General Beckman nodded to Chuck, who shifted from foot to foot, feeling a little proud of himself. A glance behind him revealed Morgan grinning even wider than ever, raising a fist to congratulate him. "If that's so, then I order Team Bartowski to take immediate action. Go the Marina Del Ray. Find him. Get this man before he disappears from the trail."

"_Ahem_," Came Morgan's cough from behind. Chuck had to refrain himself from covering his eyes as his best friend continued to speak. "What about me, General?"

"You?" General Beckman appraised Morgan for barely a second. "You stay here."

Chuck looked at Morgan as his shoulders fell, clearly disappointed in not being able to partake in the mission. As General Beckman's face disappeared, he patted a hand on Morgan's shoulder. "Maybe next time, buddy."

Morgan sighed. "Well, I guess you can't have everything."

Chuck could certainly advocate for that.

Preparation was quick. By the time Chuck and Sarah were in the armory, Casey was already getting out, armed and ready, bellowing into a radio to get reinforcements. Ducking out of the way of an M-16, Chuck reached for a bullet-proof vest on the wall. Strapping himself in, he turned to Sarah, who was doing the same.

_What should he say_? Chuck wondered, almost panicking. He couldn't help but feel awkward, but that was probably because he wanted to tell her so much. After saving the world, he wanted so much to just tell her the truth. Now was certainly not the time (especially with Casey so near), but he had to say _something_.

"Hey." Was all he could muster.

_Seriously? _Chuck wanted to punch himself for coming up with something so stupid. _Jeff and Lester could do better than this!_

Sarah glanced at him, her eyebrows twitching. "Hey."

Chuck didn't want to dig himself deeper, but he felt even more weird just leaving the conversation at that. "So, uh…another mission."

"Yeah. Another mission."

"Yep."

"Yep."

Oh, God, kill him now.

Chuck didn't know what to do as Sarah, now armed and fully protected, walked out without another word. Without even looking at him.

He sighed, strapping on his helmet and picking up a nearby gun. This was going to a _long_ mission.

The rest of the team was waiting in front of the computers. Casey and Shaw were in an intense conversation (About what, Chuck wasn't in the mood for finding out), Sarah was leaning against a table, seeming to be thinking to herself, while Morgan was admiring the various computers around him. Sarah looked up as Chuck went by, but he pretended he didn't notice her noticing him. He had no idea how well it worked.

"Everybody ready?" Shaw turned to the team, looking extra imposing in full armor and a big gun on his shoulder – not to mention the grenades, lockpicks, and other assorted weapons and tools lacing his belt and vest. Why did this guy have to look so cool in everything? He could make a _potato sack_ look good.

There were nods all around. Shaw blinked, "All right. Let's move ou –"

Just then, Chuck's cell phone started to ring again.

Three sets of eyes turned to glare at him while Chuck flushed, smiled as if it were no big deal, and struggled to yank the vibrating phone out of a tight pocket. He didn't even get a chance to look at the caller ID (Casey's combustion-inducing look was forcing Chuck to shave time) before he answered it. "Hello?"

"Chuck." It was Aunt Clary, her voice ringing clear but somewhat tired. A quick glance at a nearby clock told him it was already near ten o'clock. Why was she calling so late in the night? "It's me. I'm sorry if I'm waking you up."

"No, no, it's all right," Chuck replied as lightly as he could. Casey rolled his eyes and started to tromp up the stairs. A jerk of Shaw's head told him to _hurry it up_. "What's, uh, what's the problem, Aunt Clary?"

"I meant to call earlier," she sounded mildly embarrassed, then yawned. She spoke again, "Sorry, I've been working all day. I completely forgot to check on Sam. Do you mind if I speak to her?"

"She, uh…" Chuck scrambled for an answer, chuckling nervously as he pointed at Morgan, then at the computer with the live surveillance images. It took a second for his friend to realize what he meant, but then he snapped up and whipped around, switching from camera to camera until he got to the ones in Echo Park. To stall for time, Chuck quickly asked. "She doesn't have a cell phone?"

"I've tried," she admitted. "But Sam's not picking up. She's with you, right?"

"What?" Chuck automatically cried, then realized his mistake. "Oh, what? I mean, yeah, yeah –" he made a panicked motion for Morgan to hurry up "– I'll go, uh, I'll go check on her. I think she's in her room." He threw a meaningful look at Morgan, who took the clue and switched to the cameras in her room.

The bed was messy. The computer on her desk was sleeping. Boxes and bags, both empty and not, were strewn across the floor. Chuck frowned – had Sam even bothered to unpack? It wasn't like she never had the time. She had been here all week. He knew she didn't want to be here, but that didn't mean she had to be a slob.

It was around then he realized that Sam wasn't in her room.

"Chuck?" Aunt Clary asked. He had been stunned into silence. "Are you there? Where's Sam?"

Sarah seemed to realize something was wrong as well. She rushed to Morgan's side, hissing out instructions – pointing to various images to zoom in on them. They checked every room, in all the apartments, while Chuck continued to stall for time.

"Uh, she's not in her room," Chuck replied quickly, wondering why this was the one time when he told the truth, and it had to be something he really, _really _didn't want to say. "I'll go, uh, look around. Maybe she's in the kitchen…"

But Sam was not in the kitchen. She wasn't anywhere.

A lump had formed in Chuck's throat. Now he remembered what he was missing.

Morgan rechecked all the cameras. Sarah scoured them a second time. If Sam was hiding, she was doing a really good job. Casey had been careful with all the camera and bug placements, leaving virtually no corner unseen. But Chuck was beginning to think that perhaps Sam wasn't even in the apartment (not even Ellie's) anymore.

"Chuck…?" Aunt Clary pestered when Chuck fell into silence again. "Where's Sammy?"

Sarah turned away from the camera images, her eyes grim. She looked at Chuck. A slight shake of her head and Chuck understood immediately. Gulping, he almost whispered. "Um… Aunt Clary? We have a problem."

oOo

"And she never told you where she went?" Sarah gazed at him, frowning. This was an unexpected turn of events. She wasn't liking the odds.

They were stuffed in a giant black van, along with a squad of other unidentified men in full battle regalia. All of them were armed, none of them were friendly. The vehicle bucked and rocked beneath them. Chuck clung to his seatbelt for dear life as Casey barely kept control of the wheel. He was pretty sure the man had run at least three red lights and almost crashed into a dozen different cars.

"No, I hardly even spoke to her!" Chuck explained, shrugging his shoulders. His butt left the seat for about a split second as the van hit air. He landed with a jarring touchdown, making his voice jump as he continued: "I just – _assumed! – _she'd do her own thing and stay out of…trouble."

"How hard is it to watch a fifteen-year-old girl?" Sarah demanded. How could he act so…so _careless_ about it? It was infuriating! How was he ever going to be a real spy if he couldn't even babysit a kid? "Chuck, when was the last time you say her?"

"At home! Eating breakfast! Besides, I thought _you_ guys were watching her! You had all those cameras and stuff! You guys should have a recording of her leaving or something!"  
"Unfortunately," a different voice intervened. They turned to look at Shaw, who was sitting in the front seat. He didn't turn to look at them, but continued look ahead as Casey swerved around an eighteen-wheeler. "The whereabouts of a teenager will have to wait until later. Right now, you two should be focusing on the mission. We can't allow distractions to ruin the operation."

His eyes flicked to Chuck. "Again."

Chuck scowled, but looked down to glare holes into his boots. Wasn't his fault he couldn't be the James Bond everyone was hoping for…wasn't his fault for getting stuck with the stupid Intersect, turned into a top secret government asset whose life was constantly in danger… wasn't his fault that he couldn't admit his feelings to a girl he was in love with…

Why did he have to have the weirdest family?


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Sam vs. _the Yacht_

I remembered blinking in and out of consciousness. Sometimes all I could see was dark sky and maybe the rocking of something moving underneath me. I remembered flashlights being pointed at my face, blinding me. I saw faces but I couldn't remember any of them. The smell of salt water filled my nose.

When I had finally managed to stay awake, I had been tied to a chair. It wasn't a very comfortable chair. There was a bag, either black or dark blue that covered my face. I couldn't see anything, but I could tell there was someone else in the room. I could hear them breathing.

The CD case was digging into my back, but when I tried to complain, I realized someone had duct-taped my mouth shut. Oh, God. That was going to hurt _so bad_ when it came off.

"So, did you honestly think I wouldn't notice when some idiotic child tried to sneak on my boat?" asked a heavily accented voice, in rather cultured English. I wanted to call it Italian. "Did you take me for a fool?"

I was going to say something really smart-ass, but considering my mouth was still in the same predicament as five seconds ago, nothing was going to happen. I was a little creeped out, though, when he patted me on the head like a dog that just did something really cute.

"But I appreciate the effort," the voice continued. He seemed to be smiling, although I found nothing funny about what was going on. "You caused me plenty of trouble, more than the police ever created for my business. You made the job interesting."

The hand fell onto my shoulder and squeezed, hurting my somewhat bruised skin. "So I'll make your death quick."

My heart jumped into my throat; I kicked my legs a bit, but they were tied to the chair, too. I didn't want to die! I didn't care about the photographer anymore, it wasn't worth getting murdered over!

Then I was inexplicably intrigued. What did he mean by business?

"So," the voice continued cheerfully. "How does that sound? Or would you like another chance at life?"

He was joking, right?

But I was too scared not to take him up on that offer. I nodded, frantic.

"I want you to tell me everything you know. And since I've had experience with you spy types, I know you won't ever talk under pain of death. That's why I brought your partner."

Whoa, wait.

What partner?

I wanted to tell this guy that whoever he thought my partner was had to be just some random bystander who was at the wrong place at the wrong time – because, hello, I didn't _have_ a partner.

I shook my head, unable to tell him this. The man must've been an expert at understand miming, because he somehow knew what I meant. "Don't believe me? There's no point in lying to me, Agent. You were both seen together. My men are not stupid?"

I wanted to say '_You sure about that?'_ but the grip on my shoulder only tightened on my bruise. I whimpered in the gag, trying to pull away from him, but that only made him hold on tighter.

"Now, don't you hear that? You're making me her..."

_Whaaat?_

You're hurting _me_, dillweed!

There was a sharp rustle of movement in front of me, like a guard getting a strange itch or something. The man was behind me now. I felt something tugging at the hood. "Fine. I suppose seeing her face as she dies would be more effective anyways."

A sudden flash and the hood came off.

Sitting straight in front of me, tied to another chair, was my so-called partner. "Sam?"

"Alex!" I exclaimed, but it was muffled by the duct tape. I instantly forgot the pain in my shoulder. My mind was reeling. What the hell was he doing here? Did he _follow_ me? I couldn't believe it!

The man behind me chuckled – but it was low, chilling kind of laugh only a serial killer would have, so I had the creepy-crawlies going up and down my spine like a jungle gym. The hairs on my arms stood on end, and the hand on my shoulder suddenly got a whole lot more ominous. I gulped, trying to force down my fear. It wasn't working.

Alex was giving me this look like he didn't know whether to be scared or angry or completely freak out. And when he's a guy you really like, this is _not_ the look you want him to be giving you _at all_. I shifted anxiously in my seat; this time not because it was uncomfortable. You know how they say first impressions, like, determine the rest of the relationship of whoever you meet?

Okay, whoever 'they' were, they probably weren't counting on this.

"So," the man's voice said. Alex looked up, eyes wide and mouth thin. I tried to turn my head to get a good look at him, but he was just outside my field of vision. "Who are you working for, Agent? I'd hate to ruin her pretty face."

"Please don't!" I managed to peel off the duct tape by rubbing it against my shoulder. I turned to the man (still couldn't see him, so I tried bending my head back, but all I got for that was a nice view of a bare ceiling with only a single light bulb lighting the room), trembling as the cold edge of the blade pressed against my neck. "She would not appreciate that. She would like to keep her face the way it is."

The man seemed to be baffled, if only by the indication that he finally came moved so I could see him. He eyed me suspiciously. He hadn't shaved in a while, but he smelled awful nice. In an evil bad guy sort of way. He couldn't have been more than forty, but the life of the mob left his face scarred and slightly haggard. His eyes narrowed. "Then tell me what I want to know or…" he pointed at Alex with the blade, causing him to flinch "I ruin his face instead."

He started to move, but I cried, "Wait, no! He's got nothing to do with this! I'm the one you want!"

The man paused. Alex stared at me (with a slightly different expression this time), but kept his mouth shut. The man pointed the knife back at me. "Prove it."

"Okay, look, I'd feel a lot better if you stopped swinging that thing around –" I stuttered to a halt when he started to growl and drew a little closer, to which I quickly corrected myself, "B-b-but if that's what you like, that's perfectly fine with me!"

The man stopped, his lips curling into a sneer. "Quit stalling. You're wasting my patience – and you won't like me when it's gone."

I gulped, then admitted everything I knew. Everything I had did, since the first (um…well, the _second_) day I got here. I started with the creepy guy with the boots in the Buy More, how I contacted the police, the whole situation with the ninja assassin and Officer Borsche, the dead druggies – all the way up to how I got here. I never mentioned Alex in any of it, kind of unintentionally, but I felt proud of myself afterwards. I was giving witness to his innocence – and he'd probably get out of here alive, even if I don't. I mean, its not like he _was_ involved in the first place, but sometimes my mouth just runs off and then I have no idea where it ended up…

There were certain parts I left out, though. There was no need to hide the fact that I was the chick his guards had been chasing in the streets of Los Angeles, but I left out the fact I had a duffle bag with me. I didn't know if it was _him_ who had taken it or not (heck, it could've been one of those beach cleaner people, now that I think about it), and I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Or something like that.

I also failed to mention that Casey had his own little part in this – how he, um, _took care of_ the ninja assassin, and how I knew absolutely nothing about what happened to him after that (Since Casey's the one who's still standing, I took my guesses and ran with it).

I told him about the drugs. I left out the part about the dead actor/missing photographer. I had no idea what _that_ was about and I wanted to figure it out before he did. When I was done with my story, a little shaky because I was afraid what would happen to me after I spilled so much, and ended with the line, "But I'm not working for anyone, I swear."

There was a second of silence as both members of my audience took it all in.

The man smiled, fiddling with the knife in his hand. "I will say, that has got to be one of the _dumbest _stories I've ever heard. Do you really expect me to believe that you did that all by yourself? Just for kicks?"

I shrugged, helpless. "Um…yeah."

Throughout the story, I had been trying to undo the rope around my wrists, but they were strapped tight. I guessed it didn't matter anyway – there was no way I could've gotten away with it when both hands were in full view of my captor.

"I think you need to give me a better story than that."

"But I'm not –"

"Who do you work for? CIA? FBI?" He brought the knife closer to my face, the edge skimming my cheek. The creepy-crawlies were back again – only way, way, _way_ worse. The edge of the knife barely sliced my skin – I could feel blood trail down my face. "Oh no, look what you made me did? If I carve in the letters, do you think you'll remember?"

My breathing hitched – I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what I was _supposed _to do. Do I spit in his face, tell him to give me his worst? Because as badass as that would be, I really wasn't up for the worst he could give me. Do I cry and hope my feminine wiles won out and maybe get a pity thing? Because already I could feel the water works starting to turn on, and I was _really_ scared.

"Please, I'm telling you, I don't work for anyone –"

"Miss Samantha Bartowski, I don't believe that. You're gonna have to try a little harder..." the man said, pressing the blade harder into my skin. I gasped, my fingers clenching in pain.

"Wait."

"What?" both me and the man said, both turning to Alex, who was giving me a funny look again. Well, not funny that he was _amused_ so much as _startled_. And possibly scared. Yeah, there was a little bit of fear in there, too.

"Your surname's Bartowski?"

I blinked, totally confused as to why he'd focus on _that_ particular detail. I mean, come on, me scaling a cliff wall was _way_ cooler than whatever my last name was –

That was when I remembered. I had never told Alex my last name.

Comprehension dawned on both mine and Alex's faces, for two entirely different reasons. I knew mine well enough. Alex, however –

…_sssssshBOOOOMMMM_!

The whole building rocked back and forth. The man went flying back, right into the wall, where he was promptly knocked out. My chair rocked, and in an attempt to right myself, I overbalanced and tipped back, falling hard to the ground. I was helpless, looking up at the ceiling, as the wall to my left exploded and the sound of gunshots fill the air.

I was deaf for about a moment, but it was mostly just from the shock of the wall exploding. I gasped belatedly and, after a particularly loud gunshot, snapped my head to the left and watched as a giant of man covered in black armor charged in, got down on his knees, propped up his giant AK-47, and rattled off a couple gunshots that ended with cries of pain and several splashes of water.

Water?

I realized that the building I was in still had not stopped rocking – I could hear waves splashing about violently outside. I was on a boat! Another glimpse out the window, and I recognized that whatever boat I was on, I was in the cave behind the cliff.

The door to the room burst open, and several of those scary guards charged in, massive bulls on a rampage.

The man in the black armor (who was wet, now that I got a good look at him), uttered and incoherent shout and took out one of them with the butt of his gun, before receiving a face shattering punch to the…face.

He didn't falter, however, and proceeded to duke it out, mano e mano, 3 against on 1, against the hulking mass of muscles. I was petrified – I couldn't move, I couldn't do anything, and I was afraid that my own handicap would get me killed if I accidentally got into their crossfire. I mean, Death by Duct-Taped-to-Chair? Come on, I want to go out with a bang!

There was a loud rip, and next thing I knew, someone was hauling me to my feet. I had no idea what was going on and nearly tripped up both myself and my rescuer in the attempt to right myself. I looked around wildly to see what was happening, but only achieved in making myself dizzier.

I felt someone's hand in mine, a strong jerk and a suddenly I was running down a hall, listening to someone shouting, "Come on!"

My shoulders kept hitting the walls, but it didn't take long before I got my bearings, focused on the scene in front of me, and forced my feet to pick up the pace. I didn't even remember my foot hurt until I glanced down to watch where I was going, saw the bandaging, and still wondering why it was even there.

"Duck!" that same person yelled again. I did so, just because I saw the swinging arm a second before I heard the command. I bent down, sort of stumbled, and accidentally rammed into my attacker. It knocked him over, which made me feel a lot better about myself.

"Keep running!"

The hall got bigger, and suddenly I felt fresh air on my face. Well, not fresh _per se_ but close enough. The sound of battle was all around us, men yelling and screaming, the sound of splashing and several explosions. A particularly close one lit up the whole cave and sent a wave of heat all around. I brought up my arms to protect myself, then kind of half-fell, half-sprinted down the stairs as my rescuer pulled me after him.

The boat we were on was one of those bigger, economy ones. There were those crates again, and as we delved into their little maze, the smell of marijuana filled the air, mixing noxiously with the gunpowder and smoke. A man freight-trained past us, going all Rambo as he fired at some unseen enemy with his huge gun, and we ducked behind a crate, temporarily safe.

As we laid there on our butts, panting, I realized that it was _Alex_ of all people who was beside me. There was a switchblade in his hand. I didn't know how he got it or where, but a part of me was a little surprised. Alex wasn't the kind of guy I'd suspect to carry around a weapon with him.

We exchanged looks, not really sure what to do. For a moment, fear of the battle around us vanished as I gazed at him, not really sure what to say. Was this part where I said something really witty, or really touching? Was I even supposed to say anything at all?

It didn't really matter, however, since he was the first to break the silence. "Who do you work for?"

I gaped, speechless for a moment. Oh, him too? Come on, how hard was it going to be to convince these guys that I was just some kid who took off a bite more than they could chew? I wasn't working for anyone! "_No one!_"

Alex gave me this skeptical look, like he thought I was, I don't know, _lying_ or something. But then he closed his eyes and looked away, shaking his head. "I can't believe I trusted you."

"Excuse me? What's _that_ supposed to mean?" I demanded, completely at a loss as to why he could say such a thing. Why couldn't he trust me? I was the most trustworthy person on the planet! I wouldn't betray anyone! "Hey, what's going on here? What's the big deal?"

It was a kind of stupid thing to say when the big deal, obviously, was the gunfight, but that wasn't what I was talking about, and I think Alex knew that, too. Why was everyone thinking that I was a spy? Why did he find so much significance in my last name?

When he refused to answer (although it might have also been because I wouldn't have been able to hear him after a boat blew up), I pressed, "Look, I know about as much as to what's going on as you! I don't even know who these guys are or where they're coming from!"

Alex looked back at me. "You're Samantha Bartowski."

"Yeah? So what?" See what I mean?

Alex frowned, like my response wasn't the one he was expecting. "You…you don't know?"

"Know _what_?" I demanded, wringing my hands. I hated not knowing! Did he actually have some information to share about all of this? Because I was pretty convinced myself that he had nothing to do with it! I even went out of my way to prove it!

Alex winced as a couple bullets scrapped over our heads, raining wood chips on us. We scrambled to a new hiding place, ducking beneath the crossfire, and after a second of catching our breaths, he turned to me and said, "Does the name Chuck Bartowski mean anything to you?"

I blinked and my mouth went dry. How did Alex know Chuck? This was spinning way out of control! This wasn't making any sense! There was no way how any of this – the drugs, the photographer, the murders, the boats, the pictures, the assassin, _spies_ even – could possibly be connected! "C-Chuck? Yeah -yeah…he – he's my cousin…what's this got to do with…"

There was a second of complete and utter silence, a rare moment where not a single bullet was fired or a single person cried out. In that silence, Alex looked me dead in the eye and told me, "Chuck is a spy."

OoOoO

All right, I'll admit it.

I totally cracked up when Alex told me that.

I mean, come on! Nerd Herd Chuck, who worked for the Buy More, was a _spy_? I mean, how is that even possible? _No one_ would trust Chuck on the field! He was a total weenie! He probably couldn't even throw a punch, never mind fend off a bunch of bad guys armed with guns! This was insane! Chuck wasn't a spy!

Right?

Even as I laughed, doubts clouded my mind. I didn't have any _real_ proof he wasn't – Chuck was just an unassuming guy, and any idea of him being a badass was, well…funny. Now, if Alex had told me _Casey_ was a spy, I'd believe him in a second. That guy's built like a Mac truck and scares the living daylights out of me, and I've barely even heard him speak!

But, really? Chuck, a secret agent working for the government? It'd be easier to believe that _I_ was the agent, instead of him, and I wasn't even one in the first place! How did any of this make sense? What was the piece I was missing?

Then another thought occurred to me.

How would _Alex_ know this?

I turned to him, frowning. "And you're one to know?"

Alex, who was previously annoyed that I didn't believe him, now looked a little nervous. I had caught him, somehow, in something, with a question that not only revealed my cousin, but something even bigger as well. Alex, in my opinion, was kind of unassuming too, only in a different way. He was a kid, like me! What did he know about Chuck being a secret agent?

My mind was going every which way trying to put the pieces together, try to connect them in some bizarre way, but there was nothing in common!

Nothing but the denominator: _spy_.

Maybe my captor had been on to something all along.

I gazed at Alex, looking him up and down, and this time not because of his attractiveness. He was wearing a t-shirt and shorts, just as he had at the fair a couple hours ago (at least, I _thought_ it was a couple hours. Who knows?), and it was then, in the shadows of the crates, did I finally notice all the scars he had.

I'd seen them before, of course, but it wasn't like I had a few of my own. Some from surfing, another from rock climbing, a particular incident involving a cark jack and a weasel...but in total I had, like, five. That's it. But Alex - he had a lot.

There were several dozen on his legs, some looking way newer than others. There were several on his arms and hands, as well, like he'd been in fights. And the idea of Alex and fights? I don't know, those two things just didn't mesh together. But even now, I was beginning to have second thoughts.

I was putting the pieces together. Through the gunfire, I counted up the tallies. Alex had scars. He was strong, muscular – he could carry me and not complain! He was quiet and unassuming – not one would suspect him as a spy, just as I would never expect Chuck to be one. He was intelligent, skilled, and he traveled a lot.

What. The. Hell.

I gaped at Alex. "You're a spy."

Alex just looked at me, eyes wide and mouth set in a thin, straight line. A cross between shock, guilt, and defiance. If he really _was_ a spy, as I guessed, then he could probably kick my butt.

_BWOOOM!_

The boat rocked violently as another boat exploded into bits. Yacht leftovers fell all around us, and I took cover as flaming pieces of debris landed on top of the wooden crates of marijuana. The smell of the drugs seemed to fill my entire head, making me dizzy and high.

Then something else struck me, something completely unrelated to espionage.

Is marijuana flammable?

I didn't even have to say anything. A split second after it occurred to me, I was off running, Alex close on my heels and not saying anything. Smoke was getting thicker – more stuff was on fire, and there was no place for it to go. We were stuck in an underground cave – did this place have ventilation?

Fear took me. If the fires got too big, they'd suck out all the air inside! We'd suffocate before we'd burn!

There was a mighty _FWOOOMM! _as the fire reached the goods inside the crates. The stench suddenly got a whole lot worse, and I started choking. Whatever the benefits of marijuana were, I was pretty sure they weren't meant to be utilized in this way.

We made it out of the maze of crates. We had three directions to go: into the boat, or off either side of it.

Since the inside was stuffy enough without the flames, I chose the next best thing. Making a sharp right turn, I ran to the edge, jumped onto the railing, and kicked off as hard as I could. I heard someone cry out in alarm behind me, but I was already in midair.

I hadn't been counting on a boat waiting beneath me, but it was just as well. It was either that or the water, and I wasn't sure I was ready to take on _that_ danger yet.

My arms windmilled as I crashed into the boat. I had enough sense in me to do a barrel roll so I didn't shatter my entire skeletal structure upon impact. I scrambled to my feet, dizzy and nauseous from falling twenty feet from one boat into the other – not something I recommend, kids.

There was a loud thump as Alex landed beside me. In all honesty, I wasn't entirely surprised. Impressed, heck yeah, but not surprised.

Oh, man, I was getting jaded already.

We were on a yacht – I knew because it was the same green color of the boat I sneaked on to the other night. My only thought now was to escape, and now I had the right vehicle to accomplish that in.

These guys had to have an escape route, besides the underwater entrance I had used the first time I was here. They would never be that stupid.

A guy from below decks stormed up the steps, machete in hand, and charged at us.

I was so sick of all the confusion, of how messed up my life had gotten, the total nonsensicalness of this stupid mystery was, that I was totally enraged when this guy had the audacity to think he could attack me. My mind was in scrambles, and he thought he could use that to his advantage? I don't think so!

I ducked his first blow, so angry that I didn't even yell as I delivered a punch to his face and knocked him right out. What made the deal real sweet, though, was the fact that I recognized him as one of my pursuers from the streets of LA.

About three seconds later, though, my hand really started to hurt. On the bright side, it probably, maybe wasn't broken.

Massaging my hand, I looked around before heading inside the yacht, ducking as gunfire shot above my head. Since Alex wasn't offering any ideas, I couldn't come up with anything more creative than to commandeer the boat.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Finding the wheel was easy enough – up a couple flights and pushing a bad guy down one of them, I found myself gazing at the massive chaos raging inside the cave – behind glass that I wasn't sure was bullet proof or not. I had to find the key, which was incredibly difficult when surrounded by the gauges and the switches and the levers...

Well, I found it, anyways.

There was a kick as the engine started, but the ship didn't move. I wanted to say that driving this would be like driving a car – but honestly the yacht was like the Rubik's cube of boats.

I found the lever and pushed the yacht out of neutral. There was a loud humming sound as the boat crept forward. My heart skipped a beat at the movement.

"Do you know how to drive one of these things?" Alex asked, watching the doors in case any more baddies came around.

"Um," with one hand on the wheel and another the lever, I watched in awe as two armor-clad guys jumped from the flaming cargo boat of drugs onto our yacht. The boat rocked as they landed – and there was nothing I could do as a posse of baddies joined the two of them on the deck, making the yacht rock back and forth. "We're about to find out."

I pushed the lever forward and the boat lurched. I heard awful snap as whatever kept the yacht moored was suddenly ripped from the dock.

One of the goons looked up from his fight with the Armored Duo, at the helm – where I was, struggling to figure out the mechanics of the yacht. He shouted something to his friend, and they stormed towards the door.

I panicked and threw the wheel down as hard as I could to the right; we had been picking up speed and as the yacht tilted, the goons lost their footing and slid along the slick, polished wood. One of them managed to stop himself, catching a railing, but the other tumbled right over the edge.

"Man overboard!" I shouted, not really sure why. It was like I was controlling a giant death machine where anything I did could kill someone. It was kind of…exciting.

The rest of the crew on board were thrown off their feet. One of the Armored Duo had been in the middle of throwing a punch, but the sudden shift caused him to miss his target and hit his partner instead. The other was sent reeling.

The yacht swerved out of the little inlet between the two bigger boats, and suddenly there was a lot more space for me to move. A high-pitched screech erupted as the yacht scrapped against the edge of the cargo freighter. I couldn't block my ears with my hands already occupied, so all I could do was cringe and hope I didn't tear a hole in the boat.

I turned the yacht around so it face one way, searching for an exit. The fist fight below tumbled and tripped under the will of the boat.

Alex was clinging to the table to keep from falling over. "There's a way out to the east. I saw it when we were coming in. It's blocked by a giant gate that only opens by remote control."

I had to find the compass on the dashboard before I could figure out which way to go. Swinging the boat in the right direction, I glanced at him, "Well, do we _have_ a remote control?"

Alex swallowed, held on a little tighter as I maneuvered around a hijacked speedboat manned by six brutes with a million guns, before he answered, "I don't know; maybe they called someone to open it."

I glanced at the phone to my left, scowling. "Well, there's no way they're going to open it for a bunch of kids!"

That was when I saw it.

The gate was covering a large hole in the rock wall, about the size of a house. The space beyond was completely dark; a giant hole had been either cut or blown through the gate, leaving a sizable escape. Team Commando must've gotten in this way.

Alex looked out the window, trying to see what I was grinning about. "Sam! It's not going to work! It's not big enough!"

"So? You got any better ideas?"

Alex admitted he did not.

I gunned the engine – the prow leaped into the air, causing the fight on deck to fall back, literally, into the decks below. There was a lot of rumbling as stuff rolled around inside.

A guy on a jet ski suddenly darted out in front of me, somehow managing to control both the vehicle he was on and the giant gun in one arm. There was no way I was changing course, so I forced the yacht forward, closing my eyes as we came upon impact.

_CRUNCH! _

Yacht: 1. Jet ski: 0.

I looked out again, relieved, as the remnants of the jet ski shot by. In the distance, I heard a faint patter-patter.

Alex recognized the sound before I did.

"Get down!" he shouted, tackling me.

A split-second after my back hit the floor, the glass exploded. I uttered a little shriek as the walls tore up under a rain of bullets, which embedded themselves in the other wall.

Broken glass and shrapnel fell around us; I buried my face into my arm. I did not survive that interrogation and avoided face-ruination via knife only to get the same experience from projectiles.

The boat was still speeding along as ever, though, and I couldn't leave it unattended forever. As soon as the machine gun stopped, I peeked over the edge of the dashboard, righted the boat, and brushed off the broken glass.

Being careful not to step in the glass and further injuring my feet, I could barely breathe as the cave exit drew closer and closer. We're gonna do it. We're gonna make it.

Alex was beside me, a hand still wrapped around my arm. He looked at me, eyes wide in alarm. "Sam…"

I didn't even dare turn my head. 600 meters. "Not now."

"Sam!"

400 meters.

"Sam!" his grip tightened, and for a second I was afraid Alex was going to take me out. "It's not going to work!"

200 meters. There was no going back.

The gate loomed in, coming in faster than I anticipated. I released the wheel, shouting, "Too late now!"

We both turned and threw ourselves into the ground as the roof was ripped off with a loud, ear-piercing crash – sending debris everywhere. I winced as pieces of wood and fiberglass cascaded down on us.

Wind rushed in, picking up the debris; it was gone almost as soon as it came. I tried to get up, but something smacked me in the head and sent me down again.

Although my head was hurting and I had some new cuts and bruises, my mind was soaring. I did it! It worked! It totally worked!

Clearly, that gate was no match for the power of the yacht.

With most of the debris taken by the wind, I jumped back to the wheel – It was pitch black in here, so I almost stumbled on a piece of timber and found the wheel by walking into it. It took some blind rummaging around to clear the dashboard, find the lighted switches, and figure out which one turned on the headlights.

There was a lamp on the bow – but it was still so high up that it didn't help at all. I let down on the lever and the speed dropped dramatically, almost throwing me forward.

The tunnel was a straight lane to the outside. I could tell we were getting closer from the sound of gulls. The walls got lighter and I could see the water below. In the distance, a dark blue splotch appeared, getting larger by the second.

Then…we were breathing fresh night air.

I gazed down at the deck. The Armored Duo was still there, I found myself pleased to discover. There were 3 unconscious goons around them; the rest must've either fell off or jumped ship when we hit the gate.

In fact, the ship took quite a beating – most of the railing had been simply ripped from the side, while metal grating was buried into the hull of the ship, chipped paint flying in the wind. If there was any cargo on the ship deck, it was long gone now. If there was any glass or windows, most of it was gone. The floor and walls were riddled with bullet holes. The balcony below was completely smashed. We didn't even have a roof anymore.

"I recommend," Alex said finally. "That we never do that again."

"Agreed."

As the boat carved a path through the water, a quiet roar, I followed the coastline. I hoped to find a spot to drop the boat off and leave it. I just wanted to go home and take a nice long nap. The wind, cool on my face, just made me feel sleepier. The floor beneath me was starting to look awfully comfortable.

I shifted my position, trying to wake myself up. Something sharp jabbed me in the back. I gasped and instinctively reached behind me, to find out what it was.

"What's wrong?" Alex had heard my gasp and turned in concern. It was hard to read his expression in the dark, but I had a good feeling that whatever we had established at the festival was pretty much gone now.

My hand fell upon plastic and I withdrew the CD case – it was cracked and scratched but the CD was otherwise unharmed. I had completely forgotten I had put it there and in the rush of the moment, I hadn't felt all the jabs it made into my back.

Ow. But now I could.

"What's that?" Alex asked, taking the case from my hand. He read the inscription. "Pictures of what?"

I shrugged – I had been thinking about that earlier, before my sudden knock out. So far, I hadn't come across anything new. "I don't know. Something important enough for them to kidnap the photographer."

I paused, frowning. Now that I said it out loud, it felt as though I had forgotten something else as well, but now I had no idea what that might be. Throughout the escape, I hadn't thought much of the CD or the photographer or even Officer Borsche – I was too busy freaking out about spies and trying to survive a freaking gun fight. Even now, as a vague memory tickled my thoughts, I was sure it had something to do with this yacht.

The green yacht. Both the trap and my escape vehicle. What was I missing?

Photographer. That word felt important, too…

I studied the dark horizon, tracing my footsteps. Before the gunfight, before the invasion, before the interrogation, before waking up, before being knocked out…after finding the CD….

It hit me.

I let go of the wheel so suddenly the yacht titled underneath me. I grabbed back onto it, trying to keep the boat steady. Meanwhile, struggling with the boat, I was buzzing with excitement again. I remembered! I remembered!

The noise beneath the floor. It was in this boat! I remembered now! I was just about to find the trap door or whatever when I was attacked! So _that_ was what I was doing…

But I couldn't check now, not while I still had the boat to drive. I looked to the coastline and saw approaching beach. It was dark and empty, not at all as nice and welcoming as it would have been during the day – but right now, it was all I had.

I aimed the boat towards shore. I watched as the water level thinned, as sand and seaweed slowly became visible beneath the dark water. It created strange, eerie reflections in the moonlight. I was somewhat mesmerized, but the heavy _THUNK!_ as the boat hit ground quickly jarred me out of the reverie. The boat kept going until it couldn't go anymore…(That is to say, the propeller in the back of the boat snapped off with a really loud bang and the engine blew up)…and I quickly turned off the boat. It rumbled to a halt.

The Armored Duo, who had previously been chilling on the deck, catching their breath, were now looking up at the helm, but I was already gone. I trumped down the stairs, jumping past broken roof and timber, before getting to the floor below. It took a little bit of searching (nothing looked the same after I had roughed it up), but eventually I found the room with the bar and the Jacuzzi. I got on my knees and pressed my ear against the floor.

Alex stood above me, completely bewildered. "What the heck are you doing?"

I held a finger to my lips, hissed "Shhh!" then pointed to the floor. I strained my ears. After a second of silence, I knocked against the wood.

There wasn't a response.

Alex rolled his eyes. "Sam, you're being –"

"_I said_ SHHH!"

He scowled and silenced.

I looked at the floor. For a second, I was worried that whoever was done there had been moved. Or maybe he was killed, thanks to my excellent boat-driving skills, or the gunshots that the yacht took to the hull. Maybe it was filled with water and he drowned.

Or, hell, maybe I had just imagined it all and I was making a fool of myself in front of Alex. Greeeaaat…

Suddenly – A cry for help.

I definitely wasn't imagining that.

Okay, it was really hard to hear through the floor, but I heard someone's voice and a bit of banging around. I knocked again, and the noises responded with even more passion. I grinned, proving myself right once again, then began to look around. There had to be a door around here somewhere.

"Come on," I said, jumping to my feet, grinning at a still confused Alex. "Help me look for a trap door."

"Trap door?" Alex stared at me, as if I had suddenly lost the last pages of my book, and now I was just babbling nonsense. "What the f–"

"There's a guy!" I exclaimed, jabbing at the floor with so much force I was practically jumping. "He's underneath there! Below the floor!"

He just stood there, stunned, while I shuffled through the debris and knocked over plants. As if I wasn't already dirty and beaten up already, but now I had to dig through dirt to find some stupid lock or cut in the fabric. When Alex was still just standing there, I turned and snapped, "Well, come on! I'm not going to do this by myself! He could be dying!"

At the word 'dying' Alex jumped into action. He vaulted over the bar and started looking through broken bottles and ice cubes. The air was filled with alcohol and the smell of wine – as well a strange fruity scent. Either way, the floor was soaked and I was starting to feel a little weird.

"Hey, is this it?" Alex called from behind the bar.

I got up and scrambled over, my hands stinking of alcohol and dirt. I tried to wipe it off as much as I could on my pants, but ultimately they were stained reddish-purple brown. I didn't know what to do, so I just helped Alex open the hatch he found underneath the broken cooler.

There was no latch or lock – just heavy spring work that made it really hard to pull up. I don't know what that drug lord did to this thing, but it was like it was welded on. Then it took us a minute to realize that, um, it only opened _down_.

So, yeah. There was that little episode.

We pushed down, which was _way _easier to do. A dank, musty smell rose up to meet our faces, clashing horribly with the stench of wine and fertilizer. I swear, if I had to smell _one more noxious thing_ today, I was gonna…

"Hello?" I called into the depths, plugging my nose, which made my voice sound funny. "Is anyone down there?"

It was hard to see, but from the dim light casted by the broken lamp, I could see water sloshing around at the bottom, which couldn't have been more than ten feet. There was no ladder or stairs or anything – the hatch didn't even have a handle on its bottom side. Whoever was down there had no way of getting out. It scared me how effective the prison was.

"Y-yes…" the voice was so faint, so hoarse that I almost couldn't hear it above the water inside the room. "Yes; I'm down here…"

I sighed with relief. "Are you all right? We're – we're gonna get you out of there, okay? Just hang on!"

While I looked around for a rope or something for the guy to climb on, I heard him utter something else. His voice echoed off the walls. It was definitely male, although the faintness was making it hard for me to guess the age. It could've been hoarse because he was old. It could've been hoarse because he hadn't eaten in a while. It could've been hoarse because he almost drowned a million times. Who knew?

"I can't believe it," Alex was muttering to himself. I didn't know if he was talking about the guy in the basement, or just the whole night in general. Both were pretty reasonable candidates. "I just can't believe it…"

I eventually used a ripped and dirty tablecloth as a rope-climby-thingy. I leveled it down – there was some sloshing around as whoever was down there clambered over to the cloth. A sharp yank, and both me and Alex worked together to pull him out. Whoever he was, he was pretty heavy, even with both of us helping to get him out. There wasn't a lot of leverage inside the bar, so it kind of involved me and Alex snapping some rude comments to each other about our lack of strength and/or initiative. I won't go into details. They weren't very nice words.

Eventually, we finally got him out. All three of us were gasping for air, even though only one of us had come close to drowning. The man was skinny, dressed in raggy and smelly clothing – he was definitely older than us, considering the beard he hadn't shaved in weeks. His hair was long and…wet. A lot of him was wet. It was kind of hard to describe him something other than _wet_.

We hauled him to his feet – he winced at the dim light in the room. The man was pale, taller than both of us, but he managed to grab the countertop and stumble, trip, and collapse around the bar to the other side. He couldn't seem to get over the broken lamp in the room, like it was the most beautiful thing he ever saw.

Then he turned to me and Alex. Before either of us could do anything, he enveloped us in a big wet hug. He was shaking so hard that our own hug in return was barely holding him up. In fact, the guy was crying: "Thank you, thank you so much! I thought I was going to be in there forever. I thought I was a dead man for sure –"

He was grinning in sheer joy. I'd never seen that kind of look on anyone, ever. It was...it really touched me. I wasn't sure if I should start crying or laughing or both. A lot of feelings were pent up inside me. I was going through a lot of stress.

When he drew back to look at our faces in full light, his smile suddenly vanished. "W-wait a second…you two…you're…you're just _kids_! What are you –"

His mouth continued to move, but nothing came out. The man's jaw went slack and his eyes rolled up into his head. I let out a little shriek as he slumped to the ground with a wet _SHHLOPP! _I looked up, terrified, at the man who was standing behind him, in the doorway, with a gun in his hands.

"What the hell?" I cried, instantly jumping back. This newcomer was dressed in the armor of Team Commando, but he looked too big to be from the Armored Duo. His gun flicked to me and I had no way to defend myself as he pulled the trigger.

_Pfft!_

A sharp prick in my neck. My hand shot to the source of the pain. Something short with stiff bristles met my fingers. I pulled it out, stunned. A…a tranquilizer dart…what in the world…

I turned to Alex, the dart still in my hand. There was a strange tingling up and down my arms and legs. The world was starting slowing down, tilting awkwardly. I was in some sort of movie, with too much slow-mo. He looked surprised, shocked. I heard him shouting my name, reaching out to catch me as my knees inexplicably buckled.

I didn't even remember hitting the ground before the whole world vanished.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Alex vs. the Offer

Alex caught Sam before she could hit the floor, almost falling over himself. She slumped in his arms, her glazed eyes gazing at nothing in particular. "Sam!" He couldn't tell if she heard him or not.

"Vis sit vobiscum," Sam managed to utter. Her head fell back and the tranq dart fell from her hand.

Alex didn't understand the gibberish, deciding that the tranquilizer probably made Sam more airheaded than usual. He turned the shooter, frozen, scared and uncertain. Why hadn't he shot Alex, too? What was he waiting for?

By the time Alex looked at him, the soldier had put away his gun – he was now hauling up the skinny wet man like a sack of potatoes. The soldier glanced at Alex and in a moment of surprise, Alex recognized him through the face paint.

"Casey?"

The man grunted acknowledgement.

There came the sound of heavy footsteps and another soldier scrambled down the stairs, breathing hard and sweating profusely. He almost tripped over his own boots. The soldier addressed Casey, "I heard … I heard the gun. W-what are yooouuu….Alex? A-and Sam?"

The voice was unmistakable. Agent Carmichael stared, unsure of who to look at: Alex, unconscious Sam, or Casey with a limp body on his shoulder. The whites of his eyes stood out against the face paint. Carmichael finally decided to give Casey the hardest glare.

"What?" Casey exchanged the look, as if this was nothing out of the ordinary. "She saw too much."

"_You shot my cousin_?" Carmichael blurted, no less appeased. He took off his helmet, shaking, and ran a hand through his hair. He looked almost panicked. "Oh, man. Aunt Clary's going to _kill_ me."

"Auntie Bartowski is the least of your worries," Casey muttered as he stomped up the stairs with the man's body. "Wait until Beckman finds out about this."

Even through the face paint, Alex could tell Carmichael paled.

Alex himself was struggling to wrap his head around the fact that everyone he knew here was a spy or somehow related to one. The unconscious girl in his arms. Agent Carmichael, Walker, Colonel Casey and that other guy, their leader. What was his name again? Sean? Shaw? He didn't care to remember. They were all the same.

The night had gone sour long ago, but this was an unexpected twist – how had the agents known Alex and Sam were here? Did Sam have a tracking device on her? Was she a part of the team, and they apparently forgotten to mention her? Had she been spying on _Alex_ this whole time?

"How did you know we were here?" Alex asked, shifting Sam so he wouldn't drop her. He still hadn't decided if she'd deserve it or not. "Were you following us? Tracking me? Tracking Sam?"

Both agents gave Alex a bewildered look, as if the very idea were silly. Agent Carmichael eventually replied, with a look on his face that the thought had clearly never crossed his mind, "No…We didn't have time to put tracers on you. We came to arrest, um, Rainbow Joe."

Alex blinked. "So Sam's _not_ a spy?"

Carmichael shook his head, frowning as if the question upset him. "No."

Casey snorted as he hauled the body upstairs. "Heh. No yet."

The other agent sighed, shook his head in a sort of melancholy way, and followed Casey. Alex couldn't figure out what was wrong: the fact that no matter what he did or where he went, his spy life always followed him like a second shadow; or how the one person that didn't know _anything_ about this other life, who was completely and unquestionably normal and sane – wasn't much of either.

Why couldn't he ever catch a break?

OoOoO

Alex eventually got one in a long, uncomfortable ride back to Castle in a cramped SUV. Sam was slumped against him, snoring peacefully. A part of him wished he had been tranquilized as well, because it seemed a lot better than suffering through the grilling Team Bartowski was giving him.

"How did you get inside? How did you know where to go?"

"When did the two of you meet? How long has this been going on?"

"What the hell happened? Who was driving that boat?"

The questions were asked rapid-fire – at first, Alex tried to answer them to the best of his ability, but apparently that wasn't good enough. That just elicited more and more demands – Casey becoming increasingly threatening, to the point that they had to switch drivers so he wouldn't crash to take out his frustration. Soon enough, Alex could barely get a word in through the interrogation – confused and angry, he fell into silence, struggling to block out their voices.

It was Shaw who asked the hardest question.

"What were you _thinking_?"

Alex considered answering that one.

Personally, he didn't know. Perhaps it was just in his nature to go looking for trouble. It's done him no good so far. Perhaps it was the confusion over the fact that the taxi took Sam in the opposite direction than that she came in, towards the shore instead of the city. Or maybe that she had been acting particularly anxious during the festival, always looking over her shoulder, twitching at every loud noise. Alex didn't ask just to be nice, since at the time he had been fully convinced she was just a country girl who hadn't been around so many people before.

Now he wasn't so sure.

But after trailing Sam and sneaking into the Marina Del Ray – everything she was doing was very much what a spy would do, what _he_ would do, if a spy was looking for something. Something important.

He honestly hadn't expected to get caught, however.

Shaw was still glaring at him, as if shooting invisible daggers could get Alex to talk. It wasn't going to work.

Besides, all this was Sam's fault. She should be the one explaining things, not him.

When it became clear that Alex wasn't talking, the rest of the trip was silent. Not any less uncomfortable, but at least there weren't so many loud noises, and someone was actually driving the vehicle safely now. He could now think without interruption.

Anger festered inside Alex's chest. He hated being tricked and lied to – all its ever achieved was getting him shot at and almost killed a dozen times, over and over again. He almost _died _because of it. Everywhere he turned, there was yet another person who was willing to crush his trust under their thumb, throw it all away for their own goals. Alex's life didn't matter so long as the world was saved and they could have a nice, neat report. No unhappy kid to go blabbing to the media, no hospital bills to pay for, or liabilities to clear. He was an asset, if only because he looked too young to be anything important, and nothing more. Had luck not kept him alive all this time, Alex was sure he'd be long dead, either by the hands of enemies or supposed friends.

But that was the life of a spy. He couldn't trust anyone. Not now, not ever. Alex had been an idiot to think that California would be any different.

He glanced at Sam's sleeping form. She _did_ defend him, claim he _wasn't_ a spy. Had what she said be true? Did she really have no idea?

Alex was hesitant to even doubt himself. He made plenty of mistakes doing that.

But if it _was…_

_No, don't even think about it._ He told himself, trying to shake the uncertainty from his mind. _She knew all along. She had to be a spy. There was no way she could come this far and not be dead yet. Not get caught. She's had serious training._

Then Alex frowned to himself. Who would train a teenage girl to be a spy?

He vaguely remembered the head of MI6 telling him about the CIA's failed attempts at creating their own child spy. It had gone…rather badly. Sam couldn't possibly be the same person, could she? Had she been pretending her stupidity and naiveté this entire time? Had the CIA finally figured out how to successfully create one?

That dark anger returned, however, when Alex concluded that they'd just make another one when Sam finally managed to get herself killed. Individual lives meant nothing to the government so long as they got what they want.

Alex hated California.

He was glad he didn't have to touch Sam when they finally got to Castle. Casey was perfectly capable in handling both the unconscious man (both bound and gagged because he started struggling in his drugged sleep) and Sam with ease. The rest of the Cove-Ops team disappeared into the shadows. A minute later, an unlit helicopter flew low overhead.

Alex looked up at the dim sign of the Orange-Orange shop. One light flickered, and another needed replacing. He had been here once before. He hadn't liked it as much as he had now, and this was under much worse circumstances. With MI6, they always had the civility to call him before bringing Alex in – with the CIA, however, there was no doorman, no security detail, no secretary checking his fingerprints. They already knew he was. There were no courtesies when coming here. They just take you, sometimes right off the streets. No questions asked. No answers given.

The sheer brusqueness of it all was actually kind of refreshing, in a cold kind of way.

The inside of Castle was as cold as Mr. Blunt's office was bare. Metal seemed to be a recurring theme. At least the place was interesting, with plenty of computers and TVs, including a fully stocked armory and detention facility (although it was rather small; only a couple of cells), and an interrogation room to boot. There was a section of the hideout that was completely blocked off by this big heavy door, and Alex had never seen anyone go in or out of it, leaving him to wonder what was behind there.

There was a man he had never seen before sitting in one of the swivel chairs in front of the wall of monitors. He was eating a bowl of popcorn, watching a movie with headphones. The man was short and bearded – he didn't hear the team approaching, and Casey had to smack him on the head before he finally noticed.

The man was indignant. He took of his headphones, snapping, "Hey, what was that for?"

Somehow, for some reason, the two bodies on Casey's shoulders seemed to quell whatever anger the little man had. He slid away as the larger agent hauled his prizes into the back of Castle. It seemed as though both the man and Sam had been warranted a free pass to their very own cell, complete with a metal cot and a toilet. Luxury.

Walker, Carmichael, and Shaw all stood in front of the large plasma TV, apparently waiting for something. Alex wasn't sure what, but he now felt awkward just standing there in the middle of the room with nothing to do. Should he wait along with them? Or was he allowed to leave?

The dark looks the three agents were giving him gave Alex the answer. He sighed, massaging his arm. He had landed on it while jumping from the frigate to the yacht. It didn't feel broken, but Alex wouldn't be punching anyone anytime soon.

The wait was barely a couple minutes. The blank screen everyone was staring at blinked on, revealing a small woman with red hair in a strict bun, medals decorating her chest. Her eyes seemed to be in a perpetual squint, sharp and humorless. She did not look pleased. At all.

"Special Agent Shaw," she addressed the tall, dark and handsome spy. "You better have a good excuse for this mess."

Shaw seemed unperturbed by the implied threat, but his tone was nonetheless grim when he said, "We ran into some problems. Initiation occurred…prematurely…"

"Am I to assume you're talking about you current mission?"

"No, General. I meant about Operation Gemini."

Beckman stared at him. Jaw clenched, eyes glaring, the woman hissed, "And exactly _how_ did this happen, Agent Shaw?"

At that, the rest of the team shifted, nervous. Alex felt a tiny bit of satisfaction in their discomfort. Shaw paused, thinking of the best way to answer (perhaps not at all) when Walker spoke for him. "General, Rider was there…"

That was when the General finally noticed Alex in the background. He shuffled forward a little bit, to look her in the eye as she asked, "Agent Rider managed to sneak on board, while it took the rest of you and entire cove-ops team to get in?"

The doubt was clear in her voice, so Alex offered, "Well, I-I didn't actually sneak on. They caught me."

"Were you acting on orders?"

At this, Alex felt himself flushing. "No…"

"Then what – exactly – were you doing?"

Alex really didn't want to explain. He wasn't quite sure how.

Agent Shaw cleared his throat. "It turns out that, uh, we weren't the only ones investigating the drug dealer."

With that, he threw a pointed look at Agent Carmichael. When the General turned her attention to him, Carmichael sputtered in shock. "What? I didn't put her up to it! I know just as much as you do!"

Beckman blinked. "Who are you talking about?"

The team exchanged uncertain glances, before Casey pressed a button on the keyboard and a camera feed appeared on a nearby monitor. It was Sam's cell. Beckman must've gotten the same feed, because her expression changed dramatically. After a second of speechlessness, she demanded, "What is the meaning of this?"

Shaw took a deep breath before continuing. "She – and Rider – were already inside. They set fire to a frigate before escaping."

"She sneaked onto one of their boats. I followed her, but they caught us. She was looking for something. Evidence. She had been working on it all week." Alex elaborated, Sam's rapid-fire words floating around in his head. It was hard to keep track of everything Sam said.

"Were you working together?"

Alex shook her head. She made it sound like she did it all by herself. She didn't have help.

"Wait, all week?" Carmichael looked from Alex to Shaw to Alex again. "She's _been here_ all week!"

Beckman considered this. After a moment, she said to Shaw. "Now that the drug king knows we're after him, we don't have much time to lose. I want you to go out there and find him before he goes off grid again. I'm not letting some overenthusiastic children ruin the mission."

Shaw gave her a curt nod before heading off; he was still dressed in combat fatigues, so he was ready to go. There was a whoosh of sliding door and he was gone.

"As for the rest of you," Beckman told Team Bartowski, scowling. "Sit tight. We're starting Gemini ahead of schedule."

She jabbed a button and the screen went dark.

Silence filled the room.

At a point in everyone's lives, one will meet a person who they would never imagine angry or upset. They're too funny, too cool, or just so laid back that to see them yell or cry was like a punch to the face. Agent Carmichael was one of those people.

Alex couldn't help but stare in a mixture of awe and bafflement as Carmichael disagreed with Beckman's order, Walker defended the General, and they spiraled down into a heated argument that Alex was beginning to think was not just about Gemini. When crashing a party, sabotaging relationships, and something about a deli cropped up, Alex chose to take his leave.

He didn't really know where to go, just away from the yelling. The glares Casey was giving Alex made a pretty clear message that he wasn't allowed to leave just yet. Alex decided that the armory, even though dark and filled with death machines, was quiet and left him and his thoughts alone.

Operation Gemini – Alex knew all about that. Just the name made him grit his teeth and his nails dig into his palms. To have his fate already determined – already chosen – by a bunch of scientists and spies who cared little who they were affecting.

Alex used to wonder what his life would have been life if he never became a spy. Now he understood he had had no choice.

He chastised himself. He should've known better.

Of Team Bartowski, Alex guessed he liked Carmichael the most, although that wasn't saying much, since he hated most spies. If anything, he was the only other person Alex knew that had been unwillingly pulled into the spy life, suffering for it at each turn and burdened with a giant government database stored in his brain. Sure, he hadn't been fourteen when he started – although his mindset about the spy world had been no better – but Carmichael had no skills, no nothing except that stuff in his brain.

And he was the funniest, Alex had to admit. No one treated spy life as lightly as Carmichael did. It was almost…refreshing.

At least, that was what he knew from the files and introduction – but since then Carmichael had changed. He actually _liked_ the spy life, somewhat. Perhaps it was because of the recent upgrade of the Intersect. Alex was pretty sure there was more to that, but he couldn't figure out what that was.

Alex wondered if any of Team Bartowski ever had the chance to leave the spy life, and what reason they had not to take it. They must've been pretty good, because Alex would've taken any he could get.

Walker and Carmichael were still fighting, so Alex decided to wander around Castle. There really wasn't much to see, despite all the high-tech stuff just lying around. His footsteps echoed on the metal floor, reminding him of every sci-fi movie he had ever seen. What is it with metal floors that made it so popular in underground bases?  
The next couple hours dragged by. The fighting had stopped to be replaced by a thick, uncomfortable silence that clearly said that whatever they were fighting about, it still hadn't been resolved yet.

A low moan came from the detention cells, then a crash. Alex turned to the nearest computer with camera feed and saw that Sam had finally woken up, turned over, and promptly fell off the cot. She didn't seem to realize where she was yet. Alex smiled. She was in for a surprise.

He wasn't the only one to realize that their charge woke up. Casey peered at the computer screen, his face indiscernible. Alex couldn't possibly imagine what he was thinking. The man drew back without a glance at Alex and began typing at another computer. Alex watched, in bemused silence, as the scene in Sam's cell changed. A TV emerged from the wall, two panels sliding back to make room as it popped out.

Sam uttered a strange cry, although perhaps the tranquilizer hadn't worn off yet. That stuff made you see strange things.

An image appeared on the screen. It was the CIA seal - music started playing in the background. Almost as soon as it started playing, there was a loud banging and the short bearded man came scrambling down the stairs, eyes wide. "Ah, sweet! Initiation's started!"

Alex jumped back as he approached, deciding to ask the all-important question. "What?"

"Initiation," the man said, grinning as he watched the TV through the...computer. "I had to go through it, once - it was pretty sweet, although they didn't have to knock me out. I think."

Taken aback, Alex just shook his head to himself and found both amusement and satisfaction from the dumb look on Sam's face as the TV began to flash images (not Intersect images!) while a booming baritone narrated both the feats of the CIA and how the 'new recruits' will become an integral part of said group. Granted, it was bizarre, but the look on her face was priceless.

Sam was pretty quick to figure out what was going on, and as the video continued to play, she began to look around, knock on the door, and press her face against the glass. Of course, everyone else was either inside the big computer room or somewhere...else. Sam wouldn't have a clue of where she was or who was keeping her here.  
Considering the fact that Alex had been in the same situation at least a dozen times before, it was nice to finally be on the other end of that experience.

Eventually, Sam gave up and just sat on the cot, watching the TV screen. Alex couldn't tell if she was excited or scared. Or both.

The video ended and the screen went dark. Sam blinked, apparently confused, and had just opened her mouth to speak before the screen changed again, and Beckman appeared before her. Sam was stunned into silence again.  
Beckman must've been coming in through a live feed, because there was no way that look of utter distaste was scripted.

Sam recovered and spoke first. "Who are you?"

"General Beckman, director of the CIA," came the woman's curt reply. "I assume you know why you're here?"  
"Um," Sam paused to think. "I didn't think the CIA had to deal with jaywalkers."

If she had been trying for a bit of humor, it didn't work. Beckman just glared at Sam, who paled and clamped her mouth shut and shook her head.

Beckman inhaled through her nose. "You interfered with one team's mission to apprehend a dangerous and elusive drug lord. You snuck inside his headquarters, destroyed much of his property, and sent him into hiding. You managed to do in one week what the CIA has been trying to do for years. I - and several of my superiors – would like to know."

Sam frowned, then retold her tale as she had to their interrogator back on the boat. Only slightly less panicked this time. Even the second time hearing it, Alex had a difficult time wrapping his head around the idea that someone as goofy and absentminded as Sam could ever accomplish so much without getting herself killed a thousand times over. She was lucky she was still alive.

Beckman listened to Sam's story, but if she was as surprised as Alex was, she wasn't letting on. In fact, she seemed rather…pleased. Almost. That scowl made it hard to tell.

When Sam was done, Beckman was silent for barely a moment. Alex found himself comparing the CIA and MI6 often; Beckman, for example, was capable of a wider range of emotion and character. And at least she had the decency to show her dislike for child spies.

But in the end, both of them were the same. They would sacrifice their own agents so long as they got what they wanted.

Beckman spoke, "I'd be lying if I wasn't a little impressed. In that effect, I have a proposition. Join the CIA. Become a spy."

Sam was speechless. Then she wasn't. Stuttering, she said, "Y-you w-want…me? T-t-to be a s-spy?"

Beckman rolled her eyes. "I believe that was what I said, yes."

Sam fell into silence again. Alex's heart thumped in his chest. _Say no_, he thought. _Say no. Don't let them fool you. Don't let Gemini win._

But there was this light in her eye – a light that Alex couldn't mistake. Sam wasn't afraid or cautious. The look that dawned on her face resembled a kid at Christmas instead of a sensible teenager afraid of her life. Already, dead filled his mind. It wasn't as though Sam had ever proven herself to be sensible.

Sam stared at Beckman, almost smiling. "Yeah! I mean, totally."

Beckman sniffed, making a face before signing off. As soon as the screen darkened and was swallowed up by the wall, the door to her cell opened. Stumbling a little, Sam made her way out, looking around in barely concealed awe and excitement at Castle.

She came to an abrupt stop when her eyes landed on Alex. There was a big grin on her face.

He couldn't even look at her. Without saying another word, Alex walked out of the room.

Sam may have gone after him, if not for the bearded man (of all people) intercepted her. His rapid-fire dialogue confused Sam, who was still trying to get her bearings.

Secretly, Alex was thankful. He couldn't look at Sam. He couldn't stand her.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Sam vs. The CD

Can you believe that _Morgan_, of all people, is a spy?

Now, Casey – I could believe. Sarah, that was tolerable. Chuck was a little stretch of the imagination, but I won't deny that something clicked when I learned. It just made _sense._ Morgan…not so much. What could he possibly have to offer to the…the…what do you call it? A team? Yeah, sure, whatever.

When I saw Alex after coming out of that cell thing, I couldn't help but smile. I was going to say something, maybe a clever line or something, about how all of this was clichéd and everything (although I couldn't think of any clichés at the time). But something weird went through me as he didn't return the look, just looked the other way and walked out of the room without another word. It hurt, and I was under the impression that whatever argument we had (which I still wasn't positive on what it was about), still wasn't over.

But I didn't get a chance to even confront him about it before Morgan suddenly jumped in my way, looking completely psyched. He started to babble about…well, something, but I was still thinking about Alex, so I didn't exactly here a lot of what he was saying.

Any thought of previous arguments were completely wiped from my mind when my Mom came in from nowhere, tackled me in a giant hug, and there was this moment where I was absolutely speechless and she was saying something about worrying about me, how stupid I was and how I almost got me and Alex and Chuck and etc. etc. killed.

"Don't _ever_ run off without telling someone first!" Mom exclaimed, pulling back to give me a stern look. "I'm not saying this as your mother. I'm saying this as a spy that knows from experience."

I was just about to speak again, but I just gawked like a fish gasping for air. Wait, my _Mom_ was in on this, too? How long had she known? Was me coming here to California, doing this spy thing, part of some mysterious, over-arching plan that I definitely did not know about?

All of this was starting to giving me a headache. I managed to overcome my speechlessness and mumbled, "Hi, Mom."

The hard look on Mom's face softened a little. "I'm glad you're all right, Sammy. Next time, tell someone where you're going. It'll save your life."

Well, at least I knew she cared. "How did you…here…base…spies…?"

Mom smiled. "Oh, I took the first flight out of Montana as soon as I heard you were missing. I landed about thirty minutes ago. I'm so glad you're safe, and you've met the team, too!"

I looked around me. This…team…was perhaps the strangest one I've ever seen. I mean, not in that bunch of different, intelligent minds that used their various skills to become the most effective team they could be and ultimately the biggest asset to whatever company or government agency they work for.

I couldn't decide if this was the same thing or not.

From what I had learned, from what they told me over the course of an hour (guess it doesn't take that long to understand what a spy actually does), Casey was a colonel who could shoot guns. Sarah could also shoot guns, as well as being an accomplished con-artist. Chuck was the guy they were supposed to protect, although they didn't tell me why, although the team seemed to be centralized around him. Apparently, he could hack into computers and use Kung Fu at the same time. Maybe that made him special or something. Agent Shaw (who was currently acting like a badass somewhere else) was the leader of the team, and everything they did was determined by him. I couldn't tell if it was just me (since these guys could hide their real emotions pretty well, especially Casey), but I was under the impression that he wasn't the most adored member of the team. I guessed I wouldn't know why until I finally met him.

Morgan…just happened to be in the right place at the right time.

A part of me was scared that I may be jumping off the deep end, but the other half totally ready for whatever it meant to be a spy. I mean, come on! This was the most exciting moment of my life! I was entering this whole new world, hidden under my own, filled with secrets and lies and adventure – who _wouldn't _want that?

Mom seemed fairly pleased that I was okay with all of this. She had personally been afraid I wouldn't take this well. I don't know why – I mean, sure, I didn't like California as a _place_, but getting into its darkest corners and revealing its deepest secrets, all the while saving the world from terrorists? _That_ sounded freaking awesome to me.

I hadn't realized I was still bothered with Alex until everyone else left their little introductions to do whatever professional spies had to do. What made me more irritated with Alex may have been affected by the way Chuck and Sarah were treating each other. While a few days earlier I was completely convinced that they were honest boyfriend and girlfriend. Now I knew that it was a cover, and neither were very happy with each other. Or talking to each other. Or even looking at each other.

It bothered me because Alex was doing the same thing. And as cute Sarah and Chuck looked together, I wasn't sure I'd want that if it meant it wasn't real. Never mind did it sound frustrating, but I wasn't sure how to fake happiness during tense times. Which I'm sure they had been doing before I discovered what they really were.

It took me about ten minutes to actually find Alex (can you _believe_ how _huge_ this place is? They've even got this giant maze of hallways!) – He was bouncing a ball off the wall in a dark room, sitting in a chair.

Alex must've noticed me because I opened the door and my shadow cast this big shadow across the room, making my hair looking more gigantic than before – but he pretended as if I wasn't there. He didn't move or flinch or even look my way. Just kept glaring at that wall as if it was causing him a problem.

I really didn't know what to say other than the obvious, so I just kind of shrugged to myself and asked, "Is something wrong?"

I know – So eloquent. I was definitely going to win an award for that poignant line.

Alex didn't say anything at first, so I was still convinced he was determined to ignore me. But after a second, he finally replied, "No."

Well, since that statement pretty much contradicted his actions, I figured he was lying to me. I'm so good at this. "Liar."

Alex snorted, throwing the ball again and again. "Guilty as charged. You finally caught me. Congratulations."

I frowned. Was he _mocking_ me? Getting irritated, I asked again. "Okay, seriously – what's going on?"

I was beginning to think his problem was me when he finally caught the ball and that annoying banging noise stopped, and actually turned his head to look at me. "What do you think being a spy means?"

I was about to answer, but he cut me off fast. "It's not about cool cars and nice gadgets. You don't get to go to nice hotels and have a team of agents on your side to help you when you're in trouble. You're all alone, surrounded by enemies, and the only thing you've got to defend yourself with is a pocketknife and closest ally is half-way across the world. You don't get second chances and if you get in over your head, don't expect someone to save you at the last second. It's do or die, and let me tell you, it doesn't matter who you work for because they don't care what happens to you."

As Alex ranted, I kept trying to come up with a decent argument for every claim, but I was finding it difficult. I had the bad feeling he was speaking from experience, and to blow that off would _not_ help us reconcile. I gulped, trying to fight off my embarrassment because that _was_ what I had been thinking. I mean, it's all James Bond, isn't it? He always got the cool gadgets and sure the stories weren't always logical or followed the laws of physics but still –

But I couldn't help but blurt, "But we're not all alone. We're part of a team!"

Alex snorted, going back to throwing the ball again. The banging noise was starting to grate on my nerves. "Yeah. See how long that lasts."

"But, I mean…why wouldn't the-the agency help you? Shouldn't they care for their agents? I mean, they _are_ the ones doing all the dirty work."

"You think that means anything to them? We're just pawns to them. Do you think we get to choose our own missions? That's right. We just do as they say, and hope that whatever we get we came come out in more or less one piece. If we die, it doesn't matter. They've got armies of more agents who can do what we can't."

The bitterness in his voice was so thick I could've cut it with a knife, if I had one. It made me flinch with every bang of the wall.

"Then why do they want _us_, two teenagers? What can we do that other agents can't?"

Alex shrugged his shoulders. "The bad guys don't think they'd actually use kids as spies. We aren't as suspicious. But the bad guys, they aren't stupid. They always find out, one way or another. You're lucky they hadn't figured you out until yesterday."

I paused, frowning. That didn't sound right. I had been convinced that they knew I was after them as soon as the ninja assassin tried to kill me. Didn't I tell them about that? "B-but what about the assassin – ?"

"What assassin?" Alex asked, the banging ending with a sharp turn of his head. "You didn't say anything about that?"

I stared at him. I was pretty sure I had mentioned it both times I had to tell my story. But I clarified anyways, "Yeah – I told that officer about the guy from the Buy More, that the police were after him. After I figured out what he was doing, there was an assassin in my house. I mean, I'm all right, but then that officer killed a warehouse full of druggies –"

"Wait, how did he know where you lived?"

"Um," I didn't actually know the answer to that. After all this time, I just thought it had been a stroke of luck how Officer Borsche knew where I lived, after I told him my name –

Oh.

_Ohhhh_.

I told him my name.

Crap!

Man, I was making rookie moves already! No wonder that assassin found me so easily!

"He kind of knew my name?" I shrugged helplessly, my face going red like nobody's business. I swear, you could cook a hotdog from the heat of my cheeks. "Because I kind of told him?"

Alex stared at me as if I just achieved another level of stupidity. Which I kind of did. "You're joking."

"Um…I kind of wish I was…like, really…"

He ran a hand through his hair, grimacing. "So not only does he know your name, but he also knows you're a spy now. He knows your real identity."

"So?"

Alex stared at me, and for a second I was seriously scared because he was starting to look scared, too. "Sam! If he knows who you really are, he can figure out who your family is! Didn't you think of that before you just blew your cover?"

Horror dawned on me. "That means…he can trace me back to Chuck and you and Mom and Ellie and – _Oh, God_."

Alex stood up and blew right past me on the way out the door. I was almost knocked to the floor. Bracing myself against the wall, I stumbled to keep up with him as he practically ran to central control or whatever they called this place. While I was mad at him for shoving me like that, I was more horrified with both my own stupidity and how I had inadvertently put my family's and friends' life in danger.

Man, wasn't I making out to be a great spy already?

"What are you doing?" I panted, tripping over myself to catch up with Alex, who took such a sharp corner that I almost ran into the wall. "What are we going to do?"

"We need to warn the others. If your family is in danger, then we need to make sure they're somewhere safe."

"You mean like going out there and actually _telling_Ellie and Awesome that there's a bunch of drug lord cronies out there to hurt them?"

"You got a better idea?"

Well… "How about we tell the part of my family that's already in on the secret! I'm pretty sure Chuck doesn't want the Awesomes to get hurt any more than I do! They'll do something about it, keep them somewhere under surveillance!"

Alex gave me this scathing look that actually made me want to punch him. And, really, is something one doesn't normally feel towards their crush. "As if the CIA would actually spare manpower for a couple of civilians."

"Wouldn't they? I mean, it's the CIA's _job_ to protect the citizens of the USA and whatever. I'm pretty sure they don't want casualties!"

"Two lives won't matter to them as long as the rest of the nation is safe."

"Well, they matter to this team! We're telling Chuck!"

"Do you actually think they'll do something? If they know you blew your cover, they'll keep you here because they don't want you making more mistakes. Do you want to get locked up again?"

"Not particularly! But how do _you_ plan to protect my family? Actually fighting the bad guys? I know you're probably a serious Kung Fu master or something, but one dude against a bunch of guys with guns is not exactly a battle you're gonna win."

"I'm sure I can think of something."

"Oh, really?" I snarled, letting the anger get to me. I jumped in front of Alex and he had to skid to a stop to keep from running into me. We stood there, facing off, giving each other equally potent glares. "I don't see why you think this team won't help us! I mean, _we're a freaking team!_ It's what we do, help each other! Make sure everyone is safe!"

Alex gave me this look that clearly said that he thought I was not only stupid, but kind of crazy too. "Look, I don't know what kind of team you're thinking of, but this isn't some family that's supposed to be – _there –_ for each other! They're a bunch of old spies who care more about the mission than a couple civilian lives!"

"But they aren't like that!" I didn't deny the fact that Casey was probably the least friendly member of the team, and he probably would be the one to fit Alex's idea of what this team was. But Morgan and Chuck and Sarah? They cared for each other, I knew it. Best friends, girlfriend-boyfriend (sort of). These were people who do anything for each other. "I don't know what kind of teams _you_ worked with, but this is different! I know it!"

Alex was about to say something in response, but I cut him off (and feeling pretty good about it, considering the times he did it to me). "No, shut up! Look, I know you're this bitter, cynical guy! I know you must've seen horrible things! But whatever that was, it isn't here! You don't have to think you're alone anymore."

Alex was silent, but the look in his eyes didn't change. "Spies are always alone. The only person you can trust is yourself. You'll figure that out, eventually."

I was wasting time with this. I wanted to continue the argument, to prove myself right, and as satisfying as that would be, there were lives in danger and it was my fault, and I had to deal with that first. I threw him a dirty look, huffed, and ran.

Mom intercepted me as soon as I came through the door. "Sammy? Is something wrong?"

I guess the red face and slightly terrified expression gave it away that something was wrong and Mom put both hands on my shoulders. "What's going on? Did something happen?"

I was breathless; between the fighting and running, I could barely gasp out my mistake, my cover blowing, and the danger that Ellie and Awesome were in. Mom stared at me for a moment, as if trying to decide if I was fooling around or not. But I was too terrified to be joking around, and Mom quickly understood that, yeah, I was in big trouble.

The rest of the team had been listening in, apparently, since I had made a big enough scene. Casey grimaced and Sarah was grim. Chuck was downright horrified. His eyes were wide as he asked me, "D-do you know the Officer's name?"

I gulped, my throat going dry. "It was Borsche, but I think that was an alias. I don't know what his real name is. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen."

Chuck nodded, looking stricken. "It's…it's…"

Sarah looked from him to me. "We'll do our best. Ellie and Awesome are going to be all right."

That seemed to give Chuck some reassurance. He sort of smiled, although it wasn't very confident. "Yeah. Yeah. I'm sure they're just sitting at home, watching a movie or something. Completely safe."

Sarah rested a hand on Chuck's shoulder and a silent look passed between them. An understanding. They didn't even have to say it out loud. They knew immediately what they had to do. Whatever they had been arguing about before, it was set aside, just for now. It sent a jolt through me, a tinge of jealousy.

Me and Alex had a lot to work out.

Without another word, the team went to work. I was sort of happy, knowing I was right. These guys cared, even though it wasn't their job to. I kind of wished Alex was here to see this, so I could gloat in his face.

Mom looked back at me, her brow drawn together. "You better stay here, Sammy. Where it's safe."

Damn it, Alex was right!

I wanted to tell Mom how it was _me_ who set fire to a frigate full of marijuana, it was _me _who punched a guy in the face, it was _me _who took out an assassin out there to kill me, stole the evidence to the mystery I was solving, and giving the CIA a boon to use against this drug lord guy. But I guessed blowing your cover kind of ruined the effect. Of course, I didn't get a chance to tell her because she went into the armory, and came out alongside Casey in full battle regalia, looking like she was about to kick some serious ass.

I couldn't imagine anything more terrifying than seeing your mother carry a sniper rifle like she knew how to use it.

Within ten minutes, the rest of the team was all geared up. Except Morgan, who was at the monitors with a headset on his ears, analyzing the video feeds and trying to find the Awesomes and make sure they stayed safe. So far, they had seen a bunch of suspicious looking guys wandering around Echo Park, all dressed in dark clothes, and a couple of black utility vans with no windows. Since I was stuck here (rather reluctantly, but I wasn't going to fight a bunch of experienced spies armed with 500 pounds of fully loaded guns), I listened to Morgan as he explained that this was probably the bad guys casing the joint, checking to see if the Awesomes would be an easy snatch up. It didn't really make me feel much better.

Team Bartowski was just about to leave when Mom turned to me, frowning. "I haven't seen Alex anywhere. Do you know where he is?"

I sat back in my seat. I…I actually had no idea where he went. At the time, I didn't care – I just wanted to tell Mom what I had gotten them into. But – had he gone off to go be a hero or something?

The sick feeling in my stomach was telling me he probably had.

I looked at my Mom and shook my head. She inhaled, looking apprehensive, and as they left the control center, I could hear her voice briefing the others about the runaway teenage spy out doing his own thing.

Morgan seemed to understand that Alex was making me freak out. He tried to reassure me, although he didn't look entirely convinced himself. "I…I'm sure he's all right. I mean, he's a great spy. He'll – He'll do what he thinks is right."

I nodded, just because I knew it would make Morgan feel better and we didn't need two lunatics in the central control. Or, according the blank monitors – Castle. Is that really what they called this place?

The next hour went by rather peacefully, considering the fact my nerves were fraying. A part of me was afraid of the team, although I wasn't sure why. They were fully capable spies, they could handle everything. Maybe it was just my mom handling a gun and getting into a fight was what freaked me out. Maybe for her life, maybe for the bad guys. It could have also have been because Alex was a total wild card and I had absolutely no idea where he could possibly be or what he was capable of doing. It wasn't like I had seen him in serious action or anything.

In retrospect, I was actually kind of glad that my mother told me to stay here. No one would have wanted me fretting and freaking out during the mission. I still had to get a hold of myself.

That is, of course, until a little pop-up appeared on one of the screens. Morgan didn't notice it at first, but when I pointed it out, he seemed confused. Government issued servers don't get pop-ups for that, he had said. They had iron-clad blockers for that. Upon closer inspection, we realized it was asking if we wanted to receive a recorded video sent to us by 'UNKOWN LOCATION.'

"We can get those?" I asked, a little taken aback. Morgan seemed just as surprised as I was, but since neither of us were capable of reigning in our raging curiosity, we agreed to view it. Like, seriously, it was just this look we exchanged and _BAM!_ We didn't even have to say anything about it.

A larger window appeared – there was a play button and other controls at the bottom. The window itself was black. Morgan hooked up the sound to the speakers and there was a loud buzzing sound. Then static.

We stared at the video. I was practically jumpy with anticipation.

A loading screen appeared.

Morgan squinted. "Ah, the buffering! We meet again."

I snorted and rolled my eyes.

The video began to play.

Whoever was holding the camera seriously needed a tri-pod, because the screen was all over the place. I was so distracted that I didn't realize a voice was speaking until the camera finally managed to land on the cut up face of the interrogator from the boat. He was sneering, which made my skin crawl.

The man's breathing make the speakers crackle a little. "_Dear agents, I believe you have something of ours. My boss would really like it back._"

We continued to watch as the camera shifted again and all we got for the next ten second was a blurry view of the wall and floors. "_We both know what it contains, agents, and there is no point in keeping that from you. However, my boss is a very reasonable man. He has offered a trade._"

Morgan glanced at me, mouthing the word, "Trade?"

I just shrugged. I didn't have any idea what he meant. What could a drug lord have that we could possibly want? We already have the evidence…

The camera went into another spaz attack and for a moment we saw another face, but it was too blurry to recognize. The man's voice again. "_The CD…for the boy._"

Then Alex's face appeared – he was bound and gagged, but very much alive. He still looked angry. There was no way to tell where he was. The room was too nondescript. He could've been in a warehouse, a boat, or in an underground cave. I had no idea, but now there was this big lump in my throat and for a second I couldn't breathe.

The camera zoomed back to the interrogator. It was too close to his nose. "_As motivation, we have guns trained your family – that cute couple – in their living room. They don't know we're there, but at a press of a button their lives can end. Poor things. They wouldn't stand a chance…"_

"_If you want your friend back, if you want your family to keep their pretty little heads, I suggest that you head over to Wilson Avenue, at the bridge. With the CD. You may or may not get your friend back – of course, he might not make it, either, if you don't arrive within the hour. It'd be such a shame…"_

I didn't hear the rest of that sentence. That fear in my throat, in my chest, in my gut had mysteriously disappeared. Now I was angry. Really angry. I was angry for him threatening my family, a family I had just gotten to know. I was absolutely furious with myself because it was my fault all of this was happening. But I wasn't going to let that stop me from fixing it.

"Wilson Avenue?" Morgan said after the video ended, scowling. "That's half-way across the city! The team will never make it there in time, and I can't get to Shaw –"

"I'll go."

Morgan gave me an incredulous look. "Sam! You can't go; it's too dangerous on your own. You're just a t –"

"Teenager?" I looked him dead in the eye. I wasn't scared, I wasn't laughing, and I definitely wasn't backing down. "That's kind of the idea, isn't it?"


	21. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Sam vs. The Bridge

Now, before I go into about how I saved Alex's life and totally saved the world like a boss, I think it's my responsibility to tell you something about myself that I probably should have mentioned earlier.

I, uh, tend to act like I've got a death wish or something. Not that I _do_, but Morgan said I was putting myself in harm's way. Which in my opinion is kind of unavoidable, when you're a spy. But he said I was doing it for the thrill.

I haven't decided if he was right or not. So…now you know.

The first thing I did when I left Castle was go home. With an earpiece, Morgan was able to tell me where all the bad guys were so I could avoid them. I managed to get inside through the bathroom window, slipping inside unnoticed. I went to my room and looked for the stuff I had kept in the duffel bag.

I had forgotten I had kicked them under my bed – I didn't want anyone else to find them. I picked up a small backpack and filled it with all I could find. If the bug spray was tranquilizer, then certainly these other things could be something weird and special, too, right?

I took about a five minutes to fully examine each individual item. The clothes were what they were – clothes. But the extra skateboard wheels? Apparently they are 'incendiary' which I don't know what that means but it sounds cool, and I was pretty sure normal wheels weren't incendiary. And that zit cream? Well, I couldn't really read the fine print, but I put it in my pocket all the same. But that bubblegum is super-sticky, like superglue, so I brought that with me. And those rubber bands felt like they were made of high-tensile steel.

I couldn't believe how freakishly awesome my mom was. How did she know I'd ever need this stuff? I kind of wished she told me sooner.

I left quick after that, ducking under a few windows and bushes to avoid the bad guys, who I could only call Big-Scary-Guys-With-Guns. Dressed as ninjas. I could even hear distant sounds of a fight. Apparently team Bartowski was making its way through the army of baddies.

Well, whatever. Right now, I wasn't even in Echo Park any more. I was, in fact, hiding in an alley behind Wilson Avenue. I still had twenty minutes, but I was so terrified of going out there that I couldn't move from my hiding spot. There were plenty of tall buildings here. What if there were snipers out there ready to get us? I mean, we'd be easy targets! And if that guy could get a bunch of guns to keep watch on the Awesomes without them noticing, they could probably do the same thing for us! And I'm sorry, but I wasn't going to let myself make another mistake.

So I tried to think of something. There had to be a way to save Alex without risking the both of us. Even now, if I peeked pass the wall, I could see Alex and a bunch of scary guys in black waiting at the opposite end of the bridge, along with that skinny interrogator guy. I needed a distraction.

That was when I decided to start a riot.

It was kind of the craziest thing I've ever done.

Okay, see, there was this old warehouse across the street, right? And there was a this club nearby, really loud. I could kind of understand why the baddies would want to meet us here: if there was a gunshot or two, no one would be able to hear it through that noise.

But I was pretty sure they'd be able to hear an explosion.

I read the small words on the wheels – press the button, giving yourself ten seconds before it set off. I was so scared that I couldn't make myself do it. But I sucked it up; _You're saving Alex, and you can't activate a freaking grenade? What kind of lousy spy are you_?

So I did it. I pressed the button, threw the live grenade, and watched it fly right through a window.

There was a tinkling of glass that I could barely hear over the noise of the club. None of the baddies seemed to have realized what happened. I counted down the seconds in my head, covering my ears and squeezing my eyes shut as I reached 3…2…_1…_

…Nothing.

I scowled, looking up. Oh, come on. Did I do something wrong agai –

_FWOOOOMMM_!

I was knocked backwards by the fiery explosion that shattered all the windows in a hundred yard radius. Glass rained from overhead, and I covered my head, shrieking in surprise. I should have brought something thicker than a dark hoodie to protect me.

My ears felt plugged from the explosion, and it took me forever to realize that the music in the club had stopped and that there were now people screaming in the streets. The warehouse was ablaze, as well as a nearby empty car. I jumped to my feet, shaking glass from my clothes, before running into the street. I briefly considered throwing another grenade just to cause more panic, but after I got smashed by three different people running in three different directions, I decided that this was actually pretty good.

Now there was no way I could get shot, and I was taking a chance in thinking that any sniper wouldn't risk killing an innocent just to get to me, if they could even spot me through the massive crowd running around.

Pandemonium reigned. And I relished in it.

The baddies on the bridge scattered as wave after wave of people stampeded to get out of the area. Was it just me, or were there _more_ people around here than before? Because for a second I was under the impression –

FWOOOOSHH!

I whipped around, horror taking me as I watched a bunch of poorly dressed men set fire to a car. Others joined in, making it bigger. I didn't even wait around for them to tip it over. I just ran for all I was worth.

Those same baddies were now jumping off the bridge into a boat that I hadn't seen before, hiding under the bridge. Alex was still with him, struggling against his bombs. With the riot going on, the baddies were having trouble avoiding the rocks and shoes other assorted items being thrown into the air – this definitely wasn't a part of the plan. I managed to reach the edge of the bridge when the boat started to move. It was a small one, but certainly fast enough to get them out of here. I had barely seen Alex being shoved into the brig before making the split decision of leaping off the railing like Spiderman.

As I fell, I was afraid I wasn't fast enough. The boat was already picking up speed. But my feet caught the edge of the boat and I threw myself forward, into the boat and the back of one of the armed goons, knocking him out.

He was gone in a quick cry and splash, already several yards behind the boat, floundering in its wake, the gun pulling him down. I didn't even have time to smile in triumph before someone grabbed my arm and hauled me into the air. I gasped and struggled, my feet kicking in the air but not hitting anything.

I gazed into the face of a particularly ugly baddie, sneering at me. He had his other hand on a small gun. I realized what was going to happen and used my free hand to punch him in the face – it stopped his hand but not him letting go of me. Frustrated, I kicked him in the gut.

My feet hit the floor. Out of the corner of my eye I could already see another baddie coming for me. Thank God there weren't a lot – just for a trade off against a girl, they hadn't been very prepared. The second goon was still trying to overcome his broken noise and sudden lack of air, so while he was still distracted I shoved him, putting all my weight into the blow.

The man lost his balance, his knees hitting the edge of the small boat. He wobbled, and another push sent him over the edge. I had just enough time to duck before the third could wrap his gigantic hands around my neck. I dodged around him when he tried to grab me again, then kicked the back of his knee, making him collapse. A kick to the head kept him down.

I turned to the last occupant of the boat, the interrogator who was currently driving it. He seemed to be aware that it was just me and him, now. He sneered but looked triumphant for some reason. That was when I realized we had reached the ocean and the boat was now skipping over giant waves. I hadn't even noticed the extreme rocking of the boat.

While I was being distracted by the new change in scenery, a sudden force below my feet knocked me down. I didn't even get a chance to adjust before two hands had wrapped themselves around my neck and then I couldn't breathe. I tried to pry the hands off my neck, bite them, scratch them, but nothing could get rid of them.

Stars pressed against my eyes and I was getting lightheaded. The force pressing against my esophagus was so painful it was hard to think past it, forget about breathing. I kicked and struggled, but it was useless against the hulking 250 pound mass that I hadn't quite subdued as much as I thought.

Now I had a migraine, as if I hadn't had enough to freak out about. My struggling was getting weaker and my vision had faded to spotted black and white marks. I couldn't even hear past my own raging heartbeat, so I didn't hear anything when someone shouted.

Suddenly the hands disappeared and air rushed into my throat like a vacuum. I gasped, grateful, then started to hack and cough, rolling over on my stomach to overcome the wave of pain. I was still breathless even though there was nothing choking me. When I finally could take in air again, I was staring at two feet planted in front of me. I was vaguely aware of the fact that the boat was no longer moving.

"So, the one who had almost toppled a drug empire, the one who almost revealed us to the world, and make us a laughing stock for our competitors, was just a little girl playing spy. And look where you are now."

There was cold laughter. I was too exhausted to get up, to fight back and prove him wrong. I closed my eyes, just savoring the cold, salty air.

"Put her in the below with the other one. We're jumping ship."

I was as limp as a sack of potatoes as I was hauled up and thrown rather unceremoniously (it hurt!) into the brig. I landed with a splash, looking up as the door was slammed shut and locked, trapping me in utter darkness.

There was the sound of another boat approaching us. This one rocked as the other two occupants abandoned ship. I was so dizzy and slightly sea-sick that I couldn't stand up right, even as the buzzing sound faded away.

Then I remembered I wasn't alone. I called out into the darkness. "Hey, are you all right?"

For a second, the silence terrified me. Where was Alex? He hadn't been hurt, had he?  
Relief flooded me as soon as he spoke, but that was dashed away just as fast. "Yeah, I'm fine. But _we're_ not going to be, for very long."

"W…what do you mean?" I asked, trying to think past the migraine and the bruises around my neck.

"We're sinking."


	22. Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

Sam vs. the Bilge

I'm going to die.

I'm going to die.

I'm going to die.

Those were the only words in my mind, just running around in circles, one after the other. There weren't a lot of things I was afraid of, but behind locked in a tight space, in utter darkness, while water slowly climbed up my legs was absolutely terrifying. I didn't know if anyone had the same fear as I did right then, but man, I feel for you.

I didn't know whether to freak out or just sit there in defeat. It's not like I had anything to get us out of here. Sure, the grenades could blow stuff up, but they'd take us with it, and I'm not willing to kill myself one way instead of dying from another.

"This is all my fault," I said aloud, to no one in particular, because the only other person in this tiny little place already knew that. "We're both going to die because of me."

The boat rocked beneath us, the water inside sloshing around. The bilge was overfilling and flooding the place, sinking the ship. There was no way to pump out the water – the controls were up top, through the door that was locked from the outside.

Through the noise I heard a sigh. "Don't blame yourself. We wouldn't be in the situation if I hadn't run off. I should've listened to you when you said we can trust the team. I…"

His voice drifted off, sounding as resigned as I was despairing. I was a little confused as to why Alex didn't sound as scared and panicked as I was. I decided to ask this question out loud.

There was this short huff of laughter. I couldn't actually see Alex, but I could image him shaking his head as he said, "Trust me, near-death experiences get old real fast. I've come close to drowning a million times before."

"You were probably a total badass, though, and got your way out."

"I suppose. It's hard to be badass when you're scared out of your wits."

"Really?" I asked, almost laughing. "I don't know, I can never imagine you scared, Alex. You've always got this-this look, like no matter what happens, you can handle it."

"Someone said something similar to me before. They said it was strange, creepy."

"Well, yeah. For a kid. But still badass."

The cheeriness of the conversation contrasted bizarrely with the situation. I won't deny that it didn't make me feel better. I liked not thinking about how I was going die as it was happening. If anything, I kind of wanted to die happy.

Even if this totally sucked.

I stood up, waving around my arms in the empty blackness. I couldn't see my own hand in front of my face. I wandered around, the water sloshing and swirling around my feet and almost making me fall. The boat wasn't rocking as much and the floor was starting to slant. My foot slipped and I skidded down the edge, colliding into Alex, who had been braced himself against the wall.

He caught me and I managed to find a ridge in the wall to hold on to. My legs were trembling, but knowing where Alex was made me feel a lot better. The water was now up to our knees and I was shivering with cold. My clothes didn't provide any warmth at all.

"Is this how it's always like?" I asked, my voice sounding tinny in the small space. "Being trapped with no one to save you? When you can't even save yourself?"

I would have called for help a long time ago, but my phone bugged out as soon as it touched water and since we were both soaking wet, I could only assume that if Alex had a cell on him too, it was in the same condition. The isolation made a lump form in my throat, on top of the dozen that were already there.

"Yeah. Sometimes. Yeah," Alex said to my left. "Although there were always things I could use to help me. Now there's not even a fire axe in here to help us."

I was about to say 'this sucks' but it was kind of implied. "Have you ever imagined dying before? How you'd want to go?"

Beside me, I could feel him shrug. "Not really. I never wanted to be a spy because I knew it'd be the death of me, but…I've never really thought about it. Not even when it almost happened."

"What do you mean?" I frowned, looking at him (or where I thought his face might be), but he couldn't see me anyways.

"Last spring," there was a sort of gravity to his voice, a reluctance of speaking. "I-I was just finished with another mission. I was just walking out onto the streets of London when I was shot. I never saw it coming."

A silent gasp left my lips. "What…what happened?"

Alex shrugged again. "I don't remember much. A lot of time in the hospital. The doctors said I was lucky I didn't die. The bullet came through inches above my heart."

Impulsively, I reached out a hand to touch Alex's chest, to where the wound was. I couldn't see and his shirt was soaked, but I could feel a strange rise, a slash of mottled skin that couldn't have been anything else.

It sent chills through my body, head to toe. My hand started to shake so I withdrew it. "Did you think you would die?"

Alex laughed, but it was cold and humorless. "What kind of question is that?"

I flushed, angry with myself for being so stupid. The water had risen to half-way up my thigh. I couldn't even feel my feet any more, couldn't feel the floor beneath them. Was the floor even there anymore? Or were we just floating in the rising water?

"Sam, I can't tell you this anymore plainly," He told me, a little less harsh now. "But spy life – it's not easy, it's not fun. People get hurt, people die, and there's nothing you can do about it. Someday, eventually, it's you who dies."

"If you hate it so much, why can't you just leave?"

"Have you ever heard of people leaving the mafia and living a normal life after that?"

"Um, no –"

"It's the same thing here. If you live, that means you're good. If you're good, they keep you until you're dead. Then they get someone else. I just happen to be…better. I can't tell you all the times I've tried to get out, but then get sucked back in again. Sometimes its chance, other times you're manipulated."

"Wait, the government _manipulated_ you into coming back?"

"By blackmail, yes. I don't think I have to tell you how motivating it is to keep your family safe, right?"

"Oh. I can't believe they can do that. It's horrible."

"See what I mean? Do you see why I can't trust them? Why _you_ can't trust them?" Alex pleaded, and his words kept me in silence.

I had to think it over. Would the CIA really do that to their own people? I've never heard of things like that. It just sounded so…cruel. The CIA – or whoever Alex used to work for; what was it in England, MI6? – was supposed to save people, not push them to their deaths! It wasn't fair, for anyone! No one had the right to do that to someone else.

"Sam, when Beckman asked you if you wanted to be a spy, did you honestly think she'd take no as an answer? Just let you walk away and stay normal like none of this ever happened?"

"I – I don't know. I was a little too excited just being _offered_ the chance to really think about that. I…I don't know, if I had, I just assumed they would play fair and let me go."

"You still think that?"

I couldn't find an answer.

"Did you also ever think that maybe your dad is gone for the same reason?"

"Wha…?" that statement came right out of left field. I just stared into the black abyss, jaw hanging.

"If your mum is a spy, do you think your dad didn't know?" Alex asked me. "I bet you he was on a mission in Russia. Things went sour. That's why he didn't come back."

I stared at him, alarmed. "Wait! How do you know this?"

"They've got a file on you in Castle. Trust me, your dad was a spy."

I didn't want to believe it. Not Dad! Not him, of all people. He was the last people, even less than Morgan, that I would suspect to ever be a spy. Dad was a _doctor_, he wasn't an ass-kicking spy! He couldn't have been! Not all this time. Spying wasn't the reason he was gone, it just couldn't be –

Suddenly, that night so long ago made so much more sense to me.

"Face it, Sam. This was going to happen, one way or another. The Spy life sucks you in and never lets you go."

But that made me angry. And sad. And desperate. I think I started to cry, but I was so wet I couldn't tell. I was freezing and it was dark and I was going to die and there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn't feel my toes and the water was up to my chest – the floor was definitely gone now, the end of the boat deep in the water. The nose was in the air. Our air supply was getting short, but there was nothing I could do.

I raised my hand, and I was jarred by how close the top was to our heads. We had maybe minutes left. I hated this, this desperation. I didn't like this thrill anymore. This was too much for me, I couldn't handle it…

"Sam, for what it's worth, I'm glad you tried to rescue me. I don't know a lot of people who went out of their way to do that for me." Alex said, sounding genuinely honest. Although I was losing the feeling in my fingers, I felt Alex's hand in mine. It didn't in any way make anything better, but I felt touched, and held a little tighter because it kept me from crying harder.

I sniffed. "Don't mention it. I didn't even bring the CD."

"So…you never planned on the trade?"

"I never really planned on anything. Definitely not dying. It all just kind of…happened. I don't want to die." The top of my head was touching the roof. The rising water was touching my chin. I could do nothing but tread the water and keep myself afloat. I couldn't believe it. I was really going to die. I hadn't even been a spy for twenty-four hours and already it was going to get me killed.

I swore really loud, because I really didn't know how to express everything that was churning inside of me. I kept swearing, because it wasn't making anything better. I stopped because I was running out of breath and there wasn't enough air. It was thin. I couldn't seem to take in enough oxygen.

"Alex," I gasped, raising my chin to keep my mouth out of the water. We were still holding hands, and that was the only thing keeping me from losing all that was left of my sanity. "This is it. We're really going to die. For irony's sake, how did you ever get out of drowning?"

"Well," he took in a breath. "My first mission I was trapped in a tank with a jellyfish. I had this zit cream stuff and," he took another breath – I could barely hear him over my heartbeat. "It burned a hole through the metal."

"Zit cream?" I gasped, my legs kicking hard as I tried keep up with the rapidly depleting air supply. I couldn't believe I was hearing this. He couldn't be serious. "Did it happen to be a white tube with – _huff_ – blue and yellow words with a smiley?"

I was pretty sure I earned a weird look from Alex, even though I couldn't see it. I myself was reeling from the strange…strange…ah, crap, what do you call it? My brain can't even run right anymore. Coincidence! That's the word!

"Yeah…How'd you know?"

"Oh, my god," I huffed, reaching down with my free hand into my pocket, withdrawing the tube, so light-headed from lack of oxygen that I wasn't even sure if this was really happening. "I have one."

"Sam, that's not funny."

"I'm not – I'm not trying to be. It's in my hand, right now!"

There was a short bout of silence before Alex spoke again. "We have to be underwater by now. If we open another hole, we'll lose whatever air we've got left. We could die anyway."

"You really want to stay in here, then?" I asked, my breath running short. There was barely a couple inches left.

"Oh, god, you're right," he sounded irritated so I was kind of unprepared when a hand touched my face and he kissed me.

It lasted for, like, a second. That's it. I didn't even have a chance to be light-headed for him to explain, "Now or never, right?" and we both took a deep breath when I unscrewed the cap and pressed it against the wall above me. I tried to trace a big circle, but I had no idea if I even closed it.

There was a smell of burning and neither of us had a choice in breathing. There was a faint outline of red as the cream burned through the metal hull, and I was glad I made some sort of weird oval shape and didn't just cut a line through it.

_SHHH-SNAP!_

The metal broke away and water surged through. It came in such a big rush that it sent us back, but neither of us let go of each other. I kicked for all I was worth, trying not to let go of my breath of air in a fit of panic. I couldn't see underwater and I headed towards where I thought the hole was located.

Cut metal scraped against my shoulders and I threw out a hand trying to find the edge. My hand touched the still-hot metal and I felt the even colder water outside. Hope and desperation coursing through me, I kicked as hard as I could, pulling myself through the hole. If anything, I gripped Alex's hand harder, to make sure I didn't lose him. I didn't come this far to have someone die.

There was no way I could tell how deep we were, but my chest was aching and my lungs were burning. I couldn't count how long we had been underwater already. How deep were we? I had never even considered if my ears popped or anything –

Alex had an easier time finding his way out than I did, since I was leading the way. I didn't even wait till he was half-way through before I started kicking back up. My air supply was almost out and I was going to drown – no, I wasn't – I wasn't going to drown…

A mantra in my head. I kept saying it, over and over. Come on, I had to be close now. I could even feel buoyancy pulling me up, so I had to be going the right way. Any second now. Any second now…

My face exploded from the water – I gasped, opening my eyes wide and inhaled my entire lung capacity before releasing it in a huge whoosh and repeating several times. Alex was a few seconds behind me, pretty much doing the same thing.

I looked up at the sky, which was just beginning to show the first rays of the morning. I couldn't believe it – we were alive. We were alive!

Exhilaration spread through me like a disease. I was grinning like a maniac. I couldn't even hold it down – I cheered, shouted, whatever. It wasn't even coherent, but I felt _so freaking great_! Man, life was awesome!

I hadn't expected it, but Alex joined in as well. I had absolutely no idea where the hell we were – I couldn't see a beach or land, and we rolled over giant waves. I didn't care because I was _alive_. There wasn't anything sweeter.

Of course, floating in the ocean in the middle of nowhere with no contact to civilization, both of us were a little confused when we heart a motor boat approaching. Was it the coast guard, saving a bunch of crazy kids from a sinking ship? Or was it the baddies, making sure we drowned with the rest of the boat?

Well, it was neither.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two

Sam vs. the Lecture

For the record, I've never seen my mom drive a boat before, but she did like a pro. I was in shock when I saw the speedboat zooming in, making a beeline towards us. Casey and Chuck and Sarah were with her as well, still fully armed. What is this…I-I don't even…

Mom's face was as serious as a heart-attack, but as soon as she saw our floating heads, she broke out into a smile. She called out and pointed in our direction. The other three turned and seemed relieved as well (except Casey, who just grunted and turned back to manning the machine gun at the heel).

How did they find us here? My mind was still reeling, even though we were speeding towards the shore less than a minute later. The team was acting as though this was completely normal, not as though they used psychic powers to figure out where we were. Me and Alex were wrapped in a spare blanket they had, the cool wind not helping us at all.

As it turned out, between my mothers cries of relief and threats of ground me for life, my earpiece (which I had COMPLETELY forgot I was still wearing) was waterproof.

It also had a GPS tracker in it.

Alex couldn't decide if he should be angry or not. I was still embarrassed that Morgan had heard our whole conversation as we were about to die. When I asked him why he didn't intervene and told us to relax and say, hey, I've got your back – Morgan admitted he didn't want to intrude on our character building experience.

So both me and Alex agreed to be mad at Morgan.

When we came to shore, Mom's first action was to turn on me. "So, what happened to you staying safe in Castle?"

"Um…" my sneakers squished in the sand. Already the sun was beginning to warm me up. Everything was orange and yellow and pink. I was afraid to look at my mom, but I tried to smile. "Surprise?"

Mom crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow.

"What?" I protested, then turned to Alex, "A little help please?"

But Alex just shook his head, smirking a little as he edged away from me. "Sorry, you're on your own."

I scowled.

"So, you want to try that answer again?" Mom asked me, looking pretty amused. Like she was about to ground me. Again. "Or should I just send you back to Castle? And this time I'll make sure the doors are locked."

I shook my head. "They wanted a tradeoff, the bad guys, while you were protecting Ellie and Awesome. Are they all right? They are? Okay. I was worried. But, um, well I _didn't_ go through with it; I-I kind of thought I could save Alex myself…"

I kind of winced at myself. It sounded about just as bad as it did in my head, but there really wasn't much of a better excuse. I mean, I _did_ sort of save him, after almost getting the both of us almost killed again. Doesn't that count for something?

Mom sighed and she turned and headed up the beach. The rest of the team was packing up and taking care of the boat, which was considered evidence and therefore must be eliminated. Casey was on the lookout for any baddies while Chuck was having an intense conversation on his cell phone. With who, I didn't know. A motion from my mother told me she wanted me to follow her.

I trotted to keep up with her. I could feel my legs and fingers again, which was good, although my clothes were still completely soaked and freezing. "Mom, I just wanted –"

She held up a hand. "Sam, I know. I've heard it all before. You just wanted to do what was right. I get it, it's what we all want to do. But you have to understand what you're doing when you make rash decisions like that. This isn't a game, Sam. What you do – what you choose to do – affects other people. It can get them killed. And I know you mean well, but that doesn't mean anything if Alex died, would it?"

"Well, no, but –"

"Sam, I'm asking you to think," Mom interrupted me, and I glared at her resentfully. She sighed. "Just listen to me. It's a lesson every spy has to learn. You need to understand who and what you put at risk when you run off like that. It puts the mission in danger, it puts your teammates in danger – and I don't want you to learn this the hard way, Sammy. Your courage is admirable but jumping into trouble without asking the right question is going to lead to harsh consequences."

"But I _wasn't_ –"

"I'm not finished yet, Sam," Mom said with a stern look, silencing me once more. We touched the sidewalk, my sneakers catching against the sticky tarmac. There was no one about, but I could see some stores getting ready to open up. We'd have to leave soon.  
"You were lucky today. In fact, this whole week was full of luck for you. Don't trust that luck, Sam, because it's not going to be around for tomorrow anymore. If something like this ever happened again, you might not make it out alive."

Hearing that from my mom made my eyes sting. I was trying, wasn't I? _I was trying_! I mean, I _know_ I'm not the perfect spy or anything, but jeez, I was just a kid, all right? It wasn't _my_ idea to be – to be this person she expected me to be (granted, yes, I didn't really ask a lot of questions before agreeing to it). I'm just doing…

"Let me speak as a mother to her child," Mom told me, running a hand through her hair (the elastic snapped and her hair got all poufy, so I had to force myself not to laugh and ruin the mood my mom had created). "Courage, while rewarded, is very similar to stupidity. And I'm worried that you can't tell the difference, Sammy. And while I'm happy you care for the lives of others, risking everything to save them is _not_ the right answer."

"But I wasn't even planning on trading the CD for Alex!"

"My point still stands; you were going to risk your life, Sam, while you were still critical to the mission. You didn't think of a safer alternative – at first, it was just Alex who was in danger, but when you decided to jump in, now there were two lives in trouble – why didn't you alert Beckman of this? Or the rest of the team, for that matter? What made you think that we couldn't have helped?"  
Mom's lecture was making me feel stupider by the second. I didn't even want to admit she was right, even though she was. I don't know why telling Beckman this never occurred to me, or telling the rest of the team – maybe the traces of mine and Alex's argument was still in my head, and maybe I just didn't trust Beckman as I did the team? Morgan hadn't said anything either, so I guess it didn't really matter at the time…

"I-I'm sorry, Mom…"

"Sam, 'sorry' isn't good enough." She said, giving me this hard look as if she thought I was trying to get out of this conversation (or monologue, really) the easy way. Which I won't deny. "Alex could have died. _Both_ of you could have died.

So I asked another question that had been bugging me this entire time. "Is Dad a spy?"

My mother was opening her mouth to go into another tirade, but she stopped short. For a second, she just looked at me, mouth open, eyebrows shooting up. Seconds passed, and I waited patiently. Mom would answer. She had to.

"Sammy…" Mom grimaced, running another hand through her hair. "That's not –"

"Important?" I cut her off, kind of surprised at my own boldness, but tried not to falter as I continued, "Because I'm not allowed to know why he didn't come back? That he was actually on a mission and something went wrong?"

"Sam –"

"Well?"

Mom gave me this look that said _you're-walking-on-very-thin-ice-little-lady _and I almost considered heeding the silent threat, but I didn't want to live in the dark like that again. All this time I had been convinced that, I don't know, Dad just didn't _come back_ from his trip, that maybe he got seriously lost and couldn't find his way home. Anything but the idea that he was killed by a bunch of goons working for some evil organization. "Tell me!"

My mother heaved this breath like she realized how old I was and how old _she_ was. Don't ask me how this could be translated, but that's what it sounded like to me. "Sam…its top secret and if anyone knows I told you this, I could be court marshaled – but, yes, Sam, he was on a mission. I wasn't informed on all the details…but it was in Russia. He was covering as a doctor. He was with a team. Then they disappeared. That's all I know."

I let that sink in. Dad wasn't…Dad wasn't dead. He was missing. MIA. That meant… "You mean, he's still alive?"

Mom looked so sad, as if she didn't want to try to believe it. "I don't know, Sammy. That's just the thing. I don't know."

In the distance, I heard a siren. I looked around, towards the city. Black smoke was rising in the general direction of the warehouse I blew up – shouting and small explosions were still sounding throughout the air. I didn't know if Mom knew that was because of me, or just a bunch of gangs starting their own riot. I honestly hoped for the last one, because I definitely wasn't telling my mom I started an angry mob and risked innocent people's lives on purpose. You know, after I just got this big lesson on not making stupid risks like that?

I heard a faint crackle and buzz; Mom's hand flew to her ear and her brow drew together, serious once again. She waited a few seconds, then said, "Uh-huh…yes…I see….yes…Alright. Over and Out."

Another buzz and Mom's hand fell to her gun; she turned to Casey, who was watching as the speedboat disintegrated under flame. She called out several orders, words that I could only assume to be a code that I wasn't privy to. I watched the interaction between them, baffled and confused. As soon as the message was completed, I stared, paralyzed with shock, as Mom walked over to a parked car and slammed the butt of her gun into the driver side window, disabled the alarmed, and hotwired the engine in less than a minute.

See? I told you my mom was genius when it came to stuff like this.

I ran up to the car before she could drive off, demanding in a sort of scared way, because I had never seen my mom commit a crime before. "What are you doing? Where're you going?"

"Trouble downtown," Mom informed me, and I was right in thinking she wasn't going to get any more detailed than that. "I want you to stay out of trouble, you hear me? As far as the team is concerned, your work is done here."

"But I want to help –!"

"I know, but you've done enough damage already," My Mom was speaking as a spy now, not as a mother. The chilly tone of her voice, a superior talking to her underling, was so wildly out of familiarity that I almost forgot I was her kid. I watched as she drove off, trying to decide whether to be hurt or offended. Both, I guess.

I mean, it wasn't like I had to think about following her order or anything. I already knew I wasn't going to do it.

OoOoO

It wasn't difficult to track the remains of Rainbow Joe's (he must be seriously scary if people respect him with a name like that!) – they had regrouped in a nearby sandbar, covered by palm trees. Morgan had been able to triangulate their location from the spot where they sank the boat – something that impressed me, and for a moment I forgot how he didn't say a word while I was convinced I was going to drown.

Since Mom hadn't told anyone that she wanted me to go home, I was scot-free. Even when I was hiding out behind some thick brush while Casey peeked over with binoculars, observing the drug lord and his team of baddies. You could tell it was him because he was handing out the orders like free candy, and everyone did exactly as he said. Scarface the Interrogator was at his side, quelling any thought of backtalk or witty comebacks with a cold glare. I had been right in thinking this guy was Rainbow Joe's right hand man.

Rainbow Joe himself, however, was not as colorful as his name. I guessed he could have been handsome, but living in a cave and retreating to a sandbar clearly hadn't done him any good, or the years working with drugs and firearms. There was a shiny glint in his back pocket, and I could imagine him being a fast draw, someone who was quick on the trigger. This guy was old-school.

(I don't actually know what that means, but it sounded really cool.)

There had to be at least thirty men there, all doing Rainbow Joe's bidding. We were outnumbered by…like, _a lot_. Six to one. Is that right? I don't know, ratios always made me confused. Either way, they were armed to the teeth with guns and knives and loads of other stuff I couldn't name. Rainbow Joe had an army. We had Casey.

He should've been all we needed, really, but we didn't exactly have an Apache helicopter available, so I just prayed that maybe my mom invented something like a collapsible machine gun that could fit in the bullet-proof vest he was wearing, but I seriously doubted it.

Casey was, however, armed with a really big gun that looked like it could take out a lot of guys. And there was Sarah and Chuck, both pretty well armed (one with tranquilizers, the other an AK-47).

And I still had the three wheel grenades, but I was a little reluctant throwing them into a crowd of people, no matter how evil they could be. I've seen _Saving Private Ryan_ – these little balls of death were serious business.

Casey crouched down, giving each member of the team an equally cold glare, and said, "There's no way we can take them out all at once. If we had a bigger team, maybe…but we'll have to do with what we've got. Walker, I want you to go around to the other side, behind the crates, and get them from there. Bartowski, stay with Walker. I'll go east and keep them from the boats. You two…" he gave me an Alex this look like we were more like a liability than actual help. "Stay here."

For once, I was happy with not getting to do anything. I mean, me against a bunch of hardened soldiers? Chuck stood a better chance, I was pretty sure.

"Remember, don't let any escape." Casey said just before the three of them split. "Corral them inside the clearing. Beckman wants Rainbow Joe alive."

And just like that, the world descended into chaos.

Well, okay, not the _world_, just the tiny sandbar we were on. But still – it felt like the whole world was in chaos when the chatter of guns blazing filled the air and bullets started whizzing over your head like ballistic missiles and the trunks of nearby palm trees exploded into wood-chippy hell.

Me and Alex covered our heads and threw ourselves to the dirt – err, sand – wincing every time a bullet came a little too close for comfort. The brush didn't really protect us, because the bullets were literally tearing it apart (I'd be pulling shredded leaves and twigs from my hair for a whole week after that), but we were on an incline, so the land rose above us and provided a natural shield from hot, metallic death.

As much as I wanted to help the team (considering that I thought I'd have more to do than just cower and hide and not contribute to anything), I couldn't see any conceivable way how. There was no way I was getting up or try to distract the bad guys – I might as well paint a target on the back of my head and let them use me for target practice.

Through the shredded brush I saw the gunfight, and through the exploding boxes and fires that were starting to catch on whatever stash these guys had left, I saw Rainbow Joe's head pop up – he had hit the ground, just like us, when the guns started going off. He looked around, panicked, and scrambled as quickly as he could for his tent to the right.

I had an idea right then. But it was so stupid that I considered not doing it.

But, you know how I am. I'm an idiot – I've made this big enough of a mess already. I was going to make it even worse.

I mean, not that I had that thought in mind. Seriously. At all.

Keeping low on the hill we were on, I did that military-crawl like you see those soldiers do training under a ceiling of barbed wire, only instead of barbed wire I had bullets and itching too far up wouldn't get me a few cuts and tangled clothes but a sudden lack of a head.

Alex hadn't noticed I was halfway across the sandbar until…I was half-way across the sandbar. I hadn't noticed he noticed me because the gunfire made it too loud to hear his cry of alarm. Or the subsequent shouting of my name. In fact, I had reached the edge of the tent before I felt a hand wrap around my ankle and almost freaked out.

"What do you think you're doing?" Alex had to yell over the gunfire. We were still keeping low, although no bullets were penetrating the tent. I guessed both parties _did_ want their boss alive, after all.

I paused before I answered his question. I mean, I _had _been thinking about that before rushing into things. Sort of. I don't know. It made more sense in my head, before I had to try to say it out loud.

I hadn't really meant to shrug; maybe it was just to stall for more time so I could think, but I immediately regretted the impulse reaction. Alex gave me this look like I had _really_ lost my marbles, so I scrambled to explain things to him. "He's in there! That Rainbow Joe guy! He's hiding! We can get him!"

I wasn't afraid of being overheard through the gunfight. Casey seemed to have proven himself a worthy opponent to the criminal masses and Chuck and Sarah were taking out baddies one by one around the edges. There was yelling and screaming and there was no way I was taking a peek to see if it was just as gory as it was in the movies. I'm sorry, but _Saving Private Ryan_ was psychologically scarring in and of itself.

Alex had to think if my answer was a good enough justification to put both of our lives in danger again. I thought about what Mom had just tried to tell me about, and at least had the satisfaction of knowing that if we were going to get ourselves killed, at least it was agreed upon beforehand that we might not make it out alive. As disappointing and anti-climactic as that might be.

He gave me this single nod and the _if-something-bad-happens-I'm-totally-blaming-it-on -you _look. Anything that happened next was my responsibility.

I didn't have time to ponder on the meaning of life or how Mom was going to seriously ground me for life if and when she found out about this. I just smiled this really nervous smile that probably betrayed the fact that I wasn't really entirely completely sure of what I was doing, and without further ado, ducked inside the tent.

I supposed the first thing that surprised me was that the tent was empty. Had Rainbow Joe already left again? Why had he come in here? Was there a huge, deadly secret weapon he had stashed in here that he was about to use on Team Bartowski? Were we all doomed?

Before my mind could jump to world domination, I noticed a wooden hatch door opened – in the middle of the rather well-furnished interior, lavish even for a tent. I mean, who keeps both a desk _and_ a couch _and_ a shelf of expensive wine in a drab gray tent?

Well, if you're Rainbow Joe, you can have anything you want in your crappy tent.

We kept low to the ground, in case any goons came rushing in with guns blazing (or Casey). Only a few bullets flew through the fabric and from the angle they came at, it wasn't trying to get to Rainbow Joe or us.

I peered down into the hatch, then immediately pulled back. The smell of…of _something_ had been blasted in my face. It seemed to be consisted of rotting wood, salty water, and probably marijuana or some other drug that I had no idea what really smelled like. Either way, it was pungent and disgusting.

"It's a cache," Alex whispered, and before I could wonder why he did, I heard the sound of shuffling around inside, of a man muttering to himself – then cursing, as though he had dropped a particularly heavy box on his toe. "He must have these everywhere, as reserves."

Alex was probably right, but I wasn't about to go backpacking around the world to check. I personally wasn't enthusiastic about the idea of jumping in and facing off Rainbow Joe myself, and the smell was getting really bad, so I just slammed the hatch shut and hoped that he didn't have another way out.

The smack of wood on wood was audible, even between the rounds of gunfire. There was a racket as the noise startled Rainbow Joe and made him drop whatever he was doing. Two seconds later, directly beneath us, he shouted, "Hey, let me out!"  
Well, he had a lock on the outside of the hatch so I did the smart thing and put it to good use. Now if this really _was_ the only way out, he'd be trapped and ripe for picking. The CIA had this in the bag. I gave Alex a triumphant grin, rather surprised that this could be so easy.

"No!" he cried. "What are you doing? Don't lock me out! Stuff is burning down here!"

Wait, burning?

"What do you mean, burning?" I asked, at first surprised, but then panicked when I started to smell the smoke. Perhaps that was what made the stench worse, even though the door was closed. "Why are you burning stuff?"

"To eliminate evidence!" The man cried, clearly terrified. I've only experienced being locked in a room that slowly filled with water – which was terrifying in and of itself. I couldn't imagine being in the same situation again, only with smoke and fire. Offhandedly, I wondered which one I'd rather choose to die in. Before I could decide, Rainbow Joe continued, "The CIA knows I'm here now! They know what's here! I had to get rid of it. Please, let me out! Before I die in here!"

Well, the CIA _did_ want him alive, and that _was_ kind of the original thought to locking him up in there, but I was reluctant about letting him out. Alex apparently was, too, because when I looked at him for help, he shook his head. He didn't trust this guy. Ergo, neither should I.

"How do we know you won't try to kill us when we let you out?" I asked through the wood panels. "We know you've got guns."

"And I know the CIA wants me alive!" Rainbow Joe yelled back. I could see the faintest traces of smoke beginning to rise beneath the wood. "I know it's an impasse – you can't trust me, I'm gonna die, but you need me alive – but for the love of God, let me out!"

This man sounded genuinely terrified; a man who has seen the worst of the worst, survived through mob wars and drug wars and all lot of other types of wars. He's seen serious stuff and probably got into life-or-death situations all the time. Yet, here he was, at the mercy of two teenage spies, crying for his life.

It was pathetic, really. But hearing a grown man scream was chilling on its own. I was almost ready to let him out on sheer pity alone.

That was also when I realized I had another problem.

"Um…where's the key to this thing?"

"K-key?" Rainbow Joe's voice cracked. "It's…It's down here, with me!"

So…Even if I _did _want to let him out, I didn't have the key. And I didn't have the time nor the tools to start picking locks. Well. Good job, Samantha. Way to think ahead.

I was definitely not hatching any complex master plan in the future, that's for sure.

Rainbow Joe wasn't joking around anymore. I was pretty sure I could hear him crying, and it wasn't because the smoke was getting thicker and it was starting to sting. In fact, it was getting pretty hard to breathe, even in this tent. Could you die of smoke inhalation? How much did it take? How bad was it in there?

We still needed him alive; our main goal floated through my mind. And even then, I wasn't cold enough to just leave someone to their death, alone and terrified. We had to get him out. As in, _right now_.

"Dude, is there a crowbar in here?" I asked Alex, looking around. For such a nice tent, you think a crime boss would, like, have emergency gear or something. "Or just something to pry this open?"

"But –!"

"Just come on!" I urged him, actually risking standing up to look around more effectively. The guy had to get out of there, or we were all going to die. And then Mom would be right. Again. "He'll die if we don't get him out of there, and I don't have the key!"

Alex seemed reluctant to help a guy who he regarded as little more than a pile of sh…um, but he got up to help anyways. We tipped over the couch, looked through the desk, checked behind the shelves, but nothing. It wasn't until smoke was thick in the air (and me choking for breath and wondering if there was any Rainbow Joe left to save) that a big guy came charging in, shouting in Spanish, carrying a big gun. He was little more than a hulking shadow through the smoke. He had appeared through the flap just as I was knocking over some silver candlesticks to the right; I picked one up and slammed it as hard as I could against his head.

The goon went down like a rock.

Alex jumped out of the haze like a bat out of hell, scaring the living crap out of me. As I was untangling myself from the tent fabric and accidentally ripping off a part of the wall, Alex picked up the fallen gun, emptied it, and then slammed the butt against the lock until it broke.

Rainbow Joe was no longer screaming, but now gasping and coughing for breath. It scared me because it had barely been a minute, but it was a harsh reminder that all those news of fires and stuff were true – that stuff spread _fast._

There was a loud crack as the lock broke apart. Alex dropped the gun, swung open the hatch, then reached in and pulled Rainbow Joe out. Thankfully he was still alive and relatively unhurt. I ripped open off the walls of the tent, tearing it apart and clearing the room from smoke. It was billowing like a chimney from the hatch.

Of course, when I tore apart the tent, I wasn't expecting a dozen guns to turn on me as soon as the air cleared. My eyes were watering and my vision blurry, but I couldn't mistake the sight of the three agents on their knees, at gunpoint as well – and the sound of distant motors coming closer. Minutes later, more goons arrived on the scene. I hadn't expected reinforcements, or that maybe, you know, Rainbow Joe had more shipments coming in so he could make his escape with as much as his supply as he could…

Well, at least this wasn't _entirely_ my fault. Although, I'll admit, I probably just made the situation worse.

The only thing we had going for us was that we had Rainbow Joe – their leader, the big man, the guy who screamed like a little girl – and for a second I wasn't worried. We still had the biggest playing chip on the board. I mean, I was totally ready to start doing some seriously impressive negotiating before Rainbow Joe had to ruin the moment by shouting this little gem: "What are you doing, you morons? Kill them!"

I glanced at Alex, who exchanged the look, although he was looking way more composed than I was. But the wideness of his eyes, the shiftiness of his feet told me that, yeah, we were pretty much screwed.

Alex reacted before they could, placing Rainbow Joe in front of him while using a pretty effective half-nelson to keep him immobilized, while quickly withdrawing the gun from his belt and held it at the crime boss' head. My breath caught in my throat – would Alex really shoot him, if the need arose?

I personally hoped not.

Partly because we'd be blamed if Joe died, and Mom would ground me for life and I'd never get to be a spy again.

"You let our friends go," Alex enunciated each word, in case the goons had a problem speaking English. And as scary as they were, the goons didn't exactly look like the brightest henchmen one could hire; it was a good call on Alex's part. "And you get your boss minus a bullet through his head."

It hadn't really gone through my head that I was also part of those 'friends' criteria, until I realized that I had no bargaining chips and had at least three guns on me as well. Casey was shaking his head, as if to say that maybe Alex should just kill the guy right there, Sarah was nodding like this was a good thing Alex was doing, and Chuck was trying to decide who he wanted to agree with.

Rainbow Joe himself didn't exactly look like he wanted to go through with the deal, but with the gun at his head, the man had no choice.

"How about this?" Rainbow Joe snarled through gritted teeth. "You let me go, and I tell them not to kill your friends. There's no way they're going to listen to you, kid. They're mercenaries and they only work for the guy with the most money."

The goons didn't shift from their stance – they were going for their boss' orders, not Alex's. I didn't know how long they would wait. Would they risk their boss' life, or get impatient and just shoot us?

"And the guy with the most money isn't exactly in the place of making orders," Sarah spoke up, and the gun at her head twitched as though she had whipped out a knife. "I think it's the _kid_ you should be listening to, if you still want that paycheck,"

The goons shifted, exchanging uncertain looks. They didn't know which option was better. She had made a good point.

"Listen up, idiots," Rainbow Joe snapped. "If you listen to him, you ain't getting _anything_, except a one-way ticket to federal prison. And you know how Americans are about prison."

I actually didn't, but I could guess it was less than desirable. Rainbow Joe was clearly terrified about being under the control of some teenager, and totally ungrateful for us saving his life. He was scrambling for control, a battle he and Alex was silently waging. He struggled against Alex's grip, but it was pretty clear Alex was stronger.

Silence filled the air as the goons tried to decide among themselves which was the better choice of action. It seemed as though they weren't going to. If we waited too long, someone was going to die.

Alex looked at me, as if I were the best person to go to for guidance. Which, you know, I wasn't.

Honestly, I didn't know what to do any more than he did. I couldn't decide which was the better option myself, or what would happen next. I had half a mind for shrugging my shoulders, but since I figured he wouldn't be very appreciative of that input, I seriously considered the choice. Risk the lives of three agents (and myself) for Joe, or do as he says and hope for some mercy or something.

I wanted to risk it. I really did. I wanted to be that daring hero who took chances and always made it out on top with just a couple bruises but tons of respect. I mean, come on, who wouldn't want that kind of opportunity?

But I didn't want to see Chuck or Sarah or Casey dead. I didn't want to be responsible, I didn't want to know that I could've avoided that. For once, I didn't want to take that chance. It scared me.

Heart thumping against my chest and hoping that what I was going to do wouldn't lead to total disaster, I slowly nodded my head.

Alex stared at me, as if comprehending my move. After a second, he deflated and dropped the gun. Rainbow Joe stumbled forward when he was released and tumbled to the sand. He huffed and jumped to his feet, brushing himself off and trying to regain his dignity.

He turned on Alex, reaching behind him for his gun, but Alex still had it in his hand. Joe looked frustrated, but with an army of goons on his side and the recent reinforcements, he didn't need it.

I could barely breath I was so scared. "Well? Let them go. Let _us_ go."

Rainbow Joe looked from me, to Alex, to me again. Then he grinned. "You know what? I've got this great idea. How about no?"

Oh crap.

You know, I was really beginning to regret saving his life. Twice.

"I was thinking," Rainbow Joe said, commanding the scene with a wave of his arms. He pointed at the team in general. "Maybe I would leave this country, free from the law and any agents, with all my cargo and my many allies. Maybe I'll just dump your lifeless bodies into the ocean, where you get a free tour of Davy Jones' Locker. Maybe I'll just sail off into the horizon and become the most infamous –"

I'd never know what he'd become infamous for, because immediately the ground beneath our feet blew up.

We had left the fire unattended and apparently Rainbow Joe had been stocking up on more than just contraband drugs in his cache. So fire did as fire does when it comes into contact with explosive material and ammunition. The sand tore itself apart, the parts of it caving in. Several mooks disappeared entirely into a puff of sand and smoke and fire.

The air was filled with the loud crackle of fire and explosions. The initial shockwave itself sent me flying back into the tent, where I collided and tumbled over the tipped couch. That probably saved me from the ricocheting bullets launching into the air. Dazed and tasting blood and upholstery on my tongue, I was only capable of covering my head and hoping for the explosions to stop. And, of course, the heavy dizziness and that awful pain in my head to blow over.

The sudden, thunderous _THWAP-THWAP-THWAP_ noise and the very distinct sound of more gunfire, only from _overhead,_ jolted me back up and into full alertness again. I whirled around, looking up in amazement as a helicopter circled overhead, churning the smoke and creating a huge vortex that twisted the trees and threw sand into the air.

I gasped as grains flew into my eyes, kneeling over and covering my face, my hands snapping to my face. There was something warm and wet on my forehead – my fingers traced up to a cut in my head and I flinched upon contact. Ugh, that hurt!

Through the chaos I could see people running every which way. I couldn't see Alex anywhere, and I was hoping that he hadn't gotten hurt.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a someone run into a tree, fall, then scramble away. I turned in their direction, but the sand was too thick to see who it was. Covering my face, I tore after him, forcing my way through the twisting, powerful gale.

I ran into the guy before I saw him. We both hit the ground, but I reacted faster and got the guy pinned against the tree. Half-way through the action I could tell he was too tall to be Alex but not nearly as much as Chuck, and not big enough to be any of the goons running around.

Yes, I had Rainbow Joe.

We could barely see each other, but there was hardly a question as to the other's identity. As the helicopter got higher and the sand cleared a little – I could easily see that grimace on his face. Through the wind, he shouted, "You're no spy, little girl! You don't have what it takes to bring down guys like me. You have no chance in this world!"

I glared at him, my grip tightening against his shoulders. He really was pretty skinny, so it wasn't hard to keep him down. The way he smirked at me just got me angrier. I had to remember that this was the guy I was trying to catch the entire time, the guy I risked my life and others to catch, and nearly got killed a bunch of times for. So I punched him, because I knew he was wrong.

Like, seriously. I got this far. Who was he to say what I was and wasn't capable of?

"You know what, buddy," I said, stretching my neck and getting that satisfying crack out of it, and enjoying the hell out of that flicker of fear I saw in his eyes. "I think you're in for a surprise."


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

Sam vs. The End…For Now

I don't know whether or not I ever got to convince Rainbow Joe I was wrong, because about a minute after that, Casey jumped into the scene, clamped some handcuffs around the crime king's wrists, and hauled him off to the helicopter than landed in the clearing.

For the record, everyone had made it out all right. By everyone, I mean Team Bartowski, including Alex. He had been thrown back by the force as I had, but had been luckier. While I was comatose on the couch, he was taking out escaping goons and got to break Scarface the Interrogator's nose.

Things got a little fuzzy after that. It turned out that the helicopter was _our_ reinforcements – that Shaw guy that everyone talked about but I never got to see? Well, Morgan contacted him about the state of the Team. Shaw didn't even have to ask for our location; the billowing cloud of smoke on the horizon was a clear sign enough of the havoc we were causing.

I got to ride in a helicopter for the first time, which was probably the highlight of the rest of the day, because the everything else after that kind of sucked. First of all, the whole team got chewed out by Beckman for all the problems we caused, then congratulated us in both saving the photographer and capturing Rainbow Joe, Scarface the Interrogator, and several other of his allies (who were the ones that Shaw and Mom were after).

As soon as Beckman left us for a break, Mom immediately started to chew _me_ out for every wrong thing, between hugging me for still being alive, and then grounding me for both disobeying her direct orders and having trouble learning a lesson just after getting it shoved down my throat. Because I'm not really the best student.

I _did_ manage to mollify her, a little bit, when I told her that I chose to give up Rainbow Joe to keep from the team getting killed in a stalemate. While she still called me out because the situation could have been avoided entirely, she was glad that at least a little bit of not-taking-risks stuff got through my head.

I myself was a little proud of myself. After the whole adventure was over, I felt relieved instead of exhilarated as usual. I don't know why that bothered me so much when I finally realized that, but I couldn't believe how glad to be rid of the entire deal. I guessed it _had_ been getting old anyways.

While the billowing column of smoke had been chalked up to a small forest fire and the strange occurrences of big black helicopters was excused as one of those criminal-searching vehicles on the news, anything on a gunfight between the CIA and gangsters was kept on the down-low, and as far as I knew, no one seemed to think that the exploding warehouse was my fault.

The CD I had stolen from Rainbow Joe's yacht was filled to the brim with pictures that photographer guy, George Hennessey, had taken of Joe talking with that actor, Dillinger; them keeping to the shadows, passing blurry green and white-filled bags between each other. It was also used as evidence against Rainbow Joe and his empire, and convicted plenty of people. Of course, it was put in one of those top-secret files. So, obviously, it was leaked onto the Internet and now _everyone_ knows who Rainbow Joe is. His guilt was so clear that there was _no chance whatsoever _of him ever getting out on bail.

As for George Hennessey himself, he became an international sensation overnight. His year-long captivity had everyone falling over each other to get his story. Under the strict surveillance of the US government, he went to tons of interviews and became his giant hero, even though he didn't really do anything. Even as I strolled the streets over the next couple of weeks, George Hennessey was all there was on the newspapers and computers and lips of everything and everyone around. Within the year, he had a book published with his face on the cover and in big white letters the title _JUSTICE AND SURVIVAL_, which was an modified version of his story, my little escapades making very brief mentions, not nearly as respected as I would have liked. The place of the spies who saved his life was replaced with a team of undercover detectives who worked for the LAPD who never existed, with names that don't belong to any system.

I'll admit, I wasn't happy to know I'd never get recognition for all the work I accomplished, all the adventures I had. But I did find solace in knowing that I was privy to the real story, and that as famous as George Hennessey was, he still had to bend to the will of the CIA. You'd think all those conspiracy theorists (who, of course, had a field day with the photographer's story) were just crazy nutcases; for what it's worth, they aren't necessarily wrong.

But it's not like anyone else is supposed to know that.

Henry Dillinger also gained post-mortem popularity. While his image was slightly ruined by his whole druggie status, he got sympathy points for getting murdered in cold blood, and you won't _believe_ all the nasty secrets his family and friends had been hiding for years. I mean, it was on the Today show, Sixty Minutes, Dateline…

Yeah, let's just say the Dillinger's have become as notorious as Hennessey was legendary, and keep it at that.

As for Team Bartowski itself, I soon discovered that Shaw was tall, dark, and handsome, like a distilled version of Chuck. All the badass, none of the nerdiness. As much fun I made of Chuck for it, I realized I found him much more enjoyable company than Shaw. Really, you think he had a stick up his –

Um. Right.

As for Chuck and Sarah, while I had been convinced earlier that week that they were boyfriend and girlfriend, only to later be surprised that it had been an act, I discovered them making out in a closed room. Despite that throwing that whole are-they-aren't-they aspect into the air, I was so freaked out and confused that I just left the scene immediately, because I had absolutely no idea what to do and I totally didn't want to be caught catching them.

Because that would be really, really awkward.

Casey didn't really suffer or change throughout the entire ordeal, but I could tell that having Morgan tagalong with him everywhere was getting on his nerves, so I left whenever he looked like he was about to start killing things, in case I got caught in the crossfire. You'd be surprised how often it happens.

Mom wanted to know how I managed to get so far in my whole solving-the-mystery thing without the aid of the CIA for so long. I don't know why she asked, because this would be the third time I had to tell the story; maybe she just wanted parameters for my grounding, in case I did something so wildly drastic that deserved thirty years of never leaving the house. So I explained to her, showed her the duffle bag she had packed for me, all the thing packed inside.

What confused me was that she had no idea where I got it. Which then confused _me_, because I thought she had been the one who packed it. And a bunch of the stuff were gadgets she invented (wheel grenades; I found the prototype in her car) was a part of it, so it was just putting two and two together.

Only now the answer I was getting was five, and that wasn't making sense for either of us.

"Sam, where did you get this?"

"It…it was part of my stuff. You know, on the luggage spinning delivery thing? It had my name on it, in your handwriting," I told her, but when I showed her the letter, she said that she never wrote anything like this. That the bag hadn't been mine, that I took someone else's by mistake.

I stared at her, bewildered. "Mom, it has my name on it. See? Samantha Lucille Bartowski. How many other girls with that name do you think were at the airport that day? With the middle name _Lucille_? Seriously."

"Sam, I'm telling right now, honestly, that I have _never _packed this bag for you." Mom gave me this look as though she wasn't sure to be afraid of me or…well, or something. Like I did something risky again and the bag may or may not have carried a live bomb and I would've never known. That someone was after me. Like an assassin. Or someone was following me, tracking me, and we had no idea who it was. "Are you sure that this…that this is…?"

She couldn't seem to find the right words. So I said, "Mom, it had my name on the tag. It looked like something we'd own. I didn't ask questions! I didn't even recognize half the bags I owned anyways, so how would I know this was any different? And how many people can mimic your handwriting perfectly?"

Instantly the moment I said that, something occurred to me. The dawning comprehension in my mother's eyes said that she had come upon the same conclusion. I almost didn't want to, but I spoke aloud anyways. "You don't think that…I don't know, maybe…someone _planted_ this there? Someone like…a spy?"

Mom didn't say anything, but I knew I was right. But that just led to the much more terrifying conclusion – how could they, the spy, have ever known I needed this? That I would become a spy, who needed it? And who would know my mother so well that he or she could mimic my mom's handwriting? Even make the funny loops on her q's and f's? So I asked a better question. "Who would do that, Mom?"

Her answer was scared. Final.

"I don't know, Sammy. I don't know."

OoOoO

As for me and Alex, well…I couldn't give you an answer even if I wanted to. Really, because there wasn't really _anything _between me and him. After the whole becoming-a-spy thing and coming to terms with the whole government-agencies-are-jerks concept and having a really stressful near-death experience in a sinking ship, things have been…okay-ish with us. I mean, we were friends. We hung out, we shared jokes, we played games, and we acted like normal friends would, if normal friends were secretly spies and stuff. But that tiny, itty-bitty and totally not obvious crush I had on him? Yeah, it was gone now. I mean, yeah, now and then sometimes I'd dream of a kiss or something, but I digress. The spy life had really set me straight, which is kind of scary because I haven't decided if I liked it or not.

Maybe I was secretly afraid that his bitterness would rub off on me if I get too close, and that being around with him too much _would_ get me killed, as so many of his earlier friends had ended up. Maybe I was afraid for us – I've read the books, seen the movies. Partners in espionage and crime can't and don't stay together, because that can compromise the mission. That can get people killed. And after deciding not to take as many risks, I also decided that falling in love with a guy in the same dangerous business as you can kind of get complicated. And, well, risky.

A part of me also wanted to prove to my mom that I could learn and grow.

Sometimes Alex would ask me why I wanted to stay as a spy, even though the cons outweighed the pros. I knew I had a reason, and it was just because I thought it was sort of fun (which was true). I knew there was a deeper reason, some sort of subconscious goal. I just couldn't figure out what it was.

One night, when I was doing paperwork (mostly debriefing on my mission, everything I did, everyone and everything that was involved, and pretty much concluding that out of all the stuff I'd be doing, explaining it on paper was both the hardest and boring thing I ever had to do in my life; it was also part of me being grounded), kind of relishing the silence of Castle since I was the only one there, eating crackers as I scratched pencil on paper, filling forms and stuff; a monitor blinked on. I didn't notice it until I heard a very distinct, "_Ahem_." before turning around in surprise.

It was Beckman, giving me this indiscernible look. She was still kind of squinty and everything, but otherwise, I'd seen her in worse moods. "Yes, General? Did you want something?"

I learned that being polite to high-ranking military officials prevented any snappish insults comments or verbal abuse. Also, because it was one of the rules I wasn't allowed to break, and Mom said I might get court-marshaled for showing disrespect. I was pretty sure she was exaggerating, but then concluded that it was best not to test that theory.

"Has everyone already left?" Beckman asked, tilting her head a little to see more into the room.

I looked around, too, although I really didn't have to. "Yeah, they're gone. I'm the only one left. Why, who did you want to talk to?"

Beckman looked at me with this expression that clearly said she was reluctant to tell me, and that whatever she had to say to whoever was at a security level I wasn't granted. "Hm, I wanted to speak with Shaw. But I suppose it can wait…"

She was about to press the button to leave, but I jumped at the chance, "Um, can I ask you a question?"  
Beckman paused, considering me, as if she were ready to deal with whatever stupid question I had to ask. But I felt as though it was important, a question that had been bothering me for a while, and I wanted her to know that. She seemed to get the message and finally said, "What?"

"Um," I hadn't thought of phrasing the question until now, and for some reason it was really tough trying to find the right words. Why was it hard _now_, when it sounded so much simpler in my head? "You know how you asked me if I wanted to be a spy or not? Well…um…I was just wondering – um – if I didn't want to, would you have let me leave? Would you have just let me walk out of that room?"

Beckman stared at me for a long time. My heart felt as though it was stuck in my throat as I waited for her answer.

After what felt like an age:

"No."

I hadn't even understood what she said until after the screen went blank and I realized I had been staring at the CIA logo for five minutes straight.

I sat back, feeling sick. I tried to swallow at the lump in my throat, but it was still there. I stared at the paperwork, realizing that even if I thought spy life sucked at face value, I'd still be here, sitting in Castle, working for the government.

Why had I been stupid enough to trust their honesty? Alex was right. The government doesn't give up those who they think could be useful. I was at their beck and call, and I had no choice in the matter, even if I was under the illusion that I did.

They had tricked me. Deception. Just as every spy does. Why had I expected better from them? How could I have been so gullible?

Then that sick feeling gave away to anger. Yes, Alex was right. I never wanted him to be. He was right, it wasn't fair. I tried to think of my constitutional rights, but my mind was swirling with too many thoughts, too much dismay and despair to think of any. I was stuck. I was trapped. They deliberately put me in this position of helplessness. I couldn't get out of this, no matter what I did, no matter what I tried to do.

I'd die as a spy.

Even now, I knew I didn't want that. I was a spy, I knew that. There were parts I really liked about it. But it wasn't all I was. It wasn't all I wanted to be good at, all I had in my name. I wanted to go to college, I think. Have a normal job. Do something with honest work and motive.

For a whole week, that was all I could think about. It bogged me down, put me in this sort of mood that kept people away for a while. Most of the time I spent devising plans of getting out of the spy life, eventually, going back to normal one day. Mom didn't mind this quiet state I had gone in; it kept me out of trouble. I stayed in my room, which I still hadn't unpacked yet.

For a sense of normalcy, I spent most of the time on the Internet. That's what normal kids do, right? I was pretty sure. While being grounded sucked (I wasn't allowed a hundred yards from my room, Burbank, or Castle), the Internet let me anywhere I wanted to go, and that was good enough for me. It wasn't until Mom ordered me to clean my room for the millionth time did I finally decide to just do it and get it over with. I wasn't getting out of this anytime soon. For now, that was okay. I could live with it, enjoy it, have fun.

You know, for now.

I had managed to get through my clothes, stored them in my closet and drawers; made my bed; and was half-way through my books and elementary school trophies and awards when I got a visitor. Three guesses on who it was, and the first two don't count.

I didn't look up from my work, looking from one trophy (2nd grade spelling bee) to another (4th grade peewee basketball) when I said, "Haven't seen you around for a while,"

There was the sound of springs being compressed as he sat on my bed and sighed, "Yeah, well…I had some things to work out."

I stood up, placing the trophies on the shelf above my head, trying to decide what order I wanted to put them in. Biggest to smallest or chronologically? I looked down and put a couple more side by side. "I couldn't imagine what that could be."

The silence stretched and I continued to organize and play with my trophies, trying to find the best order to place them in. I finally decided on putting the smallest on the edges and the biggest in the middle. I folded up the box and started cleaning up my desk, which was stock-piled with the crap I had on my desk back in Montana. I was in the middle of figuring out where to put all my pens and pencils when I finally said, "You were right."

"About what?" Alex didn't sound confused.

"I asked Beckman what would have happened if I said no," I elaborated, pausing from stuffing my pencils into a case to look out a window at the courtyard below, watching as Ellie and Awesome walked out of their house in their scrubs, talking and laughing as they left for work. "You were right. I never had a choice, really. Just a delusion."

"It bothers you." It was a statement. I tried to find some trace of smugness, satisfaction, the _I-told-you-so_ in his voice. But it wasn't there.

Alex's answer still made me angry, maybe even more so with the lack of feeling in his voice. I had to admit, I probably sounded pretty bratty and ungrateful when I snapped, "Thanks, Captain Obvious. I really appreciate the emotional support."

I slammed a pencil on the desk, creating a loud bang. It was followed by a loud crack when the pencil snapped in two. I let out a hiss of breath when the jagged edges of wood burrowed into my palm. Jerking my hand back, I clutched it to my chest. Oh, great; splinters. Just what I freaking needed.

I turned around and headed for the bathroom. I opened the medicine cabinet behind the mirror, hoping for tweezers and some alcohol wipes or something. I didn't want the lead or graphite or whatever they put in pencils these days to give me an infection. And maybe something clean up the blood. Maybe some of that, too.

I sat on the edge of the tub, using the tweezers to pull out the tiny pieces of wood from under my skin. But my hands were so shaky, my mind so unfocused, that I only succeeded in pushing them further in. My breath hitched; I squeezed my eyes shut and grit my teeth, trying to get a hold of myself. It was harder than it sounded.

When Alex took the tweezers from my hand, I didn't say anything, I didn't look at him. I just steeled my nerves as he pulled the splinters from my palm with precision; I let out a breath I had been holding for who knew how long. Tears stung at the edges of my eyes, but I blinked them away.

Neither of us spoke. I didn't move as he cleaned up my hand and wrapped a bandage around it. I didn't ask questions, he didn't want answers. As soon as he was done I got up and turned away, going back to my room again.

My hand still hurt, but I went back to organizing my pencils again. Sunlight streamed across my desk, casting a warm glow everywhere. I tried to think of nice things about California, about the beaches and the summers and palm trees. But it only served to bring greater contrast to what I was feeling at the moment. Like Antarctica, or a graveyard, or a dark moon.

Alex appeared by my side. He took the pencil case, emptied it, then put the pencils back in a more orderly fashion. There was more room for the rest now. I watched him, then picked up the remains of the pencil I smashed and dumped them into the trashcan. There was now a dent on the table where I broke it.

When the pencils were all gone and put away, we just stood there, not talking. I had to look at the table because the sun was too bright to look anywhere else. My room was still a mess, and I knew my mom would like to have me finish it before lunch. Or supper. Or next week. Somehow, I had the feeling that wasn't going to happen.

He didn't look at me. I didn't look at him. We were just two kids trapped in a situation neither wanted to be in. Well, okay, at least_ one_ kind of liked it. There were still grand adventures to be had. I was ready to make a legacy for myself. But in the long run, is what I meant, we were still in the same situation.

My throat burned. I felt sick again. My mind went to the worst possible thing and I couldn't help but think of that scar on Alex's chest, and imagine how that could be me. Everyone's luck would run out someday, and Alex had barely any left at the time that happened. What if mine was already gone? When would I make my last mistake before a bullet took me?

I didn't want to die like that. It was terrifying. Bullets were always exciting until you get shot. I won't deny it hadn't crossed my mind of what it would be like to get hit with a bullet, but I never faced the fact that I could _die_ from it. Just a funny thought at the back at my mind – important characters never died unless, well, it was important. What if I wasn't one of those important characters, but just a pawn that players just used as bait?

I've heard adults complain about how teenagers think they're immortal and everything. They're not necessarily incorrect. When you're young, you don't think you'll die. You don't live for nineteen plus years just to _not exist_ one day, when you have so much ahead of you, so much progress to make, so many adventures to have. The ones that die are the old guys, the ones who've been through the long run. At least, that was in the life of normal people who didn't face the barrel of guns and bumpers of racing cars every other day. I never thought it might happen to me, in such a way, a force so _real_ that I literally couldn't avoid it. The force of death was all around me. I didn't want to be killed, not as a teenager. Not even as an adult.

Spy life was cool. But I didn't want it to be the death of me.

I had more to offer than that.

At least, that was what I tried to convince myself of. Maybe it wasn't true. Maybe I was only capable of what the CIA hired me to do. I knew of the operation now. Gemini or Aquarius or whatever it's called. It only took a quick look at my files inside Castle, when no one was looking I now knew that I had been prepared for this my whole life. Dad had been teaching me to survive all along, I was too young and naïve to realize that there was some ulterior motive to every skill I was taught, every language he made me study and every culture and scientific fact he wanted me to know inside and out. When I was eight, he just told me he wanted his little girl to grow up to be a sophisticated, cultured woman.

Who could also shoot a gun and snap a man's neck for a living. Daddy's little girl.

Did Dad think that I'd want this? Did he think that I'd be able to live normal, or had he already known I was going to be a spy, that that was all I was ever going to be.

I didn't want to believe it. I tried to think of hobbies I liked, that I had, that I had developed on my own without influence from my parents. And then I realized I _didn't_ have hobbies. Reading didn't count. Neither did computer fluency. I only had _skills_, skills that could be applied to life as a spy. That may be able to provide a decent cover, but never an honest living.

I had no hobbies. I had no favorites, no hates. I had no talents that I just _had_. No interests, no favorite band or idea of what movies I liked, of school subjects I was good at or absolutely despised. No idea of what real friends were like. I had no fears, as far as death was concerned. Was I a jock, a prep, a goth, a loser? I didn't even _understand _those concepts (what does prep mean?), so how the hell would I know if I was anything but just a thing? I didn't even know if I was good at any sports, or none at all. I had no bad habits, no biting nails or tics I had.

I was just a face, a hair color, eye color, name – add set of skills, minus any form of personality, and you've got your perfect spy.

What made it worse was that my room, my possessions just proved this. I didn't own CDs or music. I didn't have any movies or posters. Hell, I didn't even have _pictures!_ I didn't have any collections of stamps or buttons or _anything_. I had awards, but that was accomplishments for my skillsets. My bedspread was a simple, bland solid color. Did I even _have_ a favorite color? Even now, I couldn't remember if I had one or not. I had a favorite pair of jeans and these shoes I always wore, but did that really count? I never remembered being ambitious for anything that was for my own personal gain, not for my parents.

I liked winter. I knew that. But now I was stuck in California, where winter probably doesn't even exist. I bet it didn't even snow here.

I realized that I had been nurtured into something that had nothing any normal person should. I had been stripped to the bare minimum. No distractions, so reservations. I was a human, but I wasn't a person.

I hadn't realized I was crying until I started to hiccup. Oh, god, _I was crying_. I tried to wipe the tears away. Don't be like that. Get a hold of yourself. You…you're a person. You have a personality. You like winter. Your favorite movie was Star Wars. Well, one of them. Which one? Um. The first one. Sure. Okay.

I took a deep breath, a little shaky. That was good. Okay, I had something to my name. I like Star Wars. That was good. What else did I like?

Green. My favorite color was green. Or purple. Or blue. One of those. I liked Montana. Mountains. Cabins.

I liked flowers. Lilies. Those were my favorite.

But only because they reminded me of Dad, who was the reason for all of this.

I was kind of a person. A little bit of personality, character, whatever you call it. Sort of. Not all of me was there. I had no hobbies, no talents. I didn't know a lot of other movies besides Star Wars. I didn't listen to music. There _had_ to be some sort of music I liked, shouldn't there?

But at the heart, I knew I was a spy. Strip everything away, and that was what was left. When I was nothing, I was still useful to somebody. A tool to be used. A means to an end.

How could parents raise their child to have no interests, no hobbies? Isn't that…defeating the point? Wouldn't parents _want_ their children to be well-developed people? Isn't that what they aimed for, because it proved they were good parents as well?

It just felt _wrong_.

But even then, I never could see my parents as evil or, like, bad people or anything. I mean, they must've done something right, if I was still here. Right? Or was I just deluding myself again, trying to make excuses for people who had been deceiving me my entire life without me knowing it?

Did they create me with the sole intention of cultivating me to become a spy? Was that all I was? Had they no other objectives but just leaving me at that?

I didn't want to be defined by what they created me as. I wanted to be more than that.

I was still crying, but a part of me felt better, even a little determined. A part of me was scared. What would happen if I stepped over the line? Would the CIA think I'd be useless if I tried to do something different, if I decided that, hey, knitting is kind of fun – why don't I try something like that instead?

I didn't want to think about it anymore. How many people came to the realization that they didn't really have a personality, just a set of really useful skills? I liked how it was before, when I didn't have to think about favorite colors or movies or hobbies. Did I really need them?

I didn't know. I felt human enough. Just a few things missing that I had never realized were gone. I felt…just as I had before. All four limbs. A couple new bruises. Nothing different.

Inside was a whole different story.

I sniffed again. Was I thinking too hard about this? At the root of it all, I was still a spy. And I knew I was going to be living with that fact for a while. And I knew that was going to be okay for a little bit.

I was a little surprised when I felt a hand slide into mine, a comforting hold. I exhaled, closing my eyes. Alex still stood beside me, silent as ever, sharing with me whatever this moment was. I hiccupped and shuddered a little, trying to recover from this…discovery.

I didn't know why I was a little glad he was still here. Still hadn't left. Wouldn't he be bored by now? I had been lost in thought for so long…

No words had to be shared, but I guessed sometimes you didn't need any. Just a look, a glance, a touch. I had no idea why I suddenly felt so content. Maybe because I realized I wasn't alone. I had family. I had friends…sort of. I had plenty to learn. I still had time.

Alex's hand felt big in mine. It reminded me of how I used to hold my father's hand, only his had been much larger in comparison when mine were so much smaller. And Alex had never lied to me. Kept secrets, sure, as anyone would. But never told me a lie.

I told him lies. Only to discover some weren't necessarily lies. Dad was actually still alive, maybe. I don't know, maybe Mom and Dad _did_ have a fight or falling out. It wasn't like Mom was going to tell me anything. I felt bad for being the dishonest one, but I had my secrets too.

Honest spies. Wasn't that an oxymoron?

I opened my eyes and looked out the window. The sky was so clear it was hard to look at. I could hear a couple seagulls in the distance. It really was a beautiful day. I was never going to finish cleaning up my room.

So, this is the end…for now.

* * *

**Okay, I'm going to repeat it again here. The rewrite will occur on a different story, so this one will stay as is. The next story will start with a different storyline and more canon characters, in third person POV, with more Chuck and Alex :D The plot might have less to do with some random drug dealer I came up with and more around Chuck's gallery of villains from the Third Season and probably some guys from Alex's past. It'll be Post-Scorpia Rises and in the middle of Season Three of Chuck.  
**


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